


Let Fly The Phoenix's Wing

by Talontales



Series: Talon Tales of Warcraft [6]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Adventure-ish, Dialogue Heavy, Don't copy to another site, Drama, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Intrigue, Mystery, Romantic Elements, post-wrath of the lich king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26289898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talontales/pseuds/Talontales
Summary: In the aftermath of the War against the Lich King, Kassari and Khroga have lingered in Dalaran for administrative purposes, but home soon beckons. However, at the threshold of the resurgence, a cloaked figure appears and speaks of a new threat, one that stalks where the conventional eyes cannot peer. Kass was taught that those with power must exert it for the integrity of Quel'Thalas, but what if actions to protect it leads to secrets that could question its standing in this world?
Relationships: Original Female Blood Elf Character/Original Female Orc Character
Series: Talon Tales of Warcraft [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902163
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Allegiance zero

**Author's Note:**

> _Hello, I'm Claire Talon and this is another WoW fic of mine. It's sort of a continuation of previous stuff I've done, so if you just stumbled into this, it'll be very confusing_
> 
> _So uh, this is gonna be a weird one. It is a kind of "in-between fic", as it doesn't star Rivaryn and her team, and it also plays out between the events of Wotlk and Cata. It won't be of the same length as earlier ones, which is noted by the stated total chapter once it's done, that I hope will remain at eleven._   
>  _Furthermore, it will involve mystery/detective elements, I guess. Not super complex ones, as I'm not an especially good writer, but hopefully intriguing nonetheless. It does contain a couple I've written about in previous fics - Kassari/Khroga - and likely minor romantic scenes, but I want to emphasize that this is not really a romance tale._   
>  _This story is also intended to establish Kassari and Khroga's foreseeable future, as the conclusion of it will present what they'll be handling from now on._
> 
> _If you wanna get a better idea of how they look, you can check[this blog page](https://creativebankruptcies.blogspot.com/2018/12/wow-characters.html) with screenshots. It's the same I've posted in previous parts ___

Death, famine, freezing souls, the whiteness of the dormancy beyond. The continent of Northrend has an ocean of mental associations for people to the south – legends, anecdotes, revised and garbled histories that have and are a test to discard, and costly to affirm. Perhaps that is why the Burning Legion could so efficiently curse and infiltrate it, enact it as their foothold for the dead all those decades ago, pivot and filtrate its nature, essence, and meanings for eternity.

When the mortal armies, heroes, adventurers, mercs and naïve glory-seekers made their way here, they weren’t truly clear on what to expect of the Lich King’s hold, nor his powers, and this included the floating city-state of Dalaran. And it almost risked the animation of everything they’ve ever loved and held dear.  
The final battle, no more than a month off into the past now, was gruesome, a monument to the Lich King’s might and his guile, for his ploy had encapsulated a strategy to turn and shift the greatest of the southern heroes into his own puppets and pawns, to reverse the tide back against them, and swallow this world in the name of the Scourge.  
But he, like a preponderance of others, had undersold the Light’s gift, the edge of the holy blade Ashbringer. Though it was held down and imprisoned for most of the final showdown, the instant it broke free, thawing the ice and blinding every shape and size, Frostmourne’s integrity was imperiled and then torn into pieces.

This was the tale spun to Arcanist Kassari Silvershroud at any rate, an emissary of the Silvermoon Magister Order to the Kirin Tor. In fact, she was one of the scant tally of her organization who was actively participating and comprised in the bedlam which took place in the spire’s spiraling heights, flinging her fire and working the arcane to shield her allies, whilst ripping her enemies in twain.  
Her girlfriend, the orc shaman and Horde military official Khroga Steelfang, had a downright personal mission to attend to, throwing her already-perished father into the mix, as he had been reawakened in the form of a death knight by the Lich King. Freeing his soul was both Khroga’s and Kass’ main focus, as well as their accomplishment.  
Although Kass would have emphatically reveled in the opportunity to take vengeance for her people’s slaughter by Lordaeron’s former prince, she does not bewail her missed presence. That he’s dead is pleasing, and he does not bear nor deserve another thought from her, filth that he is.

The violet floating city has lingered atop the frozen landmass of Northrend for the time being, as a multitude of Kirin Tor mages are yet researching, scouring, and examining the northern continent’s reaches, its caves and constructs, unmistakably now that the Scourge’s leader is dethroned. This does not indicate full-on stability, but at least no mounted imperilment.

Kass too has stuck around in Dalaran, though she has no inspiration for trudging along the snowy hills or the rotted grounds once more. She’s in town for accumulating the final pieces of intel she requires for her assignment, settling unfinished matters and to wish the Kirin Tor well upon their future endeavors. In a week or so, she’ll be travelling home to Silvermoon City, on the behest of her superiors, as they’re keen to receive a debrief from their envoy and to discuss her share of the warfare.

Collaborating with the Kirin Tor as an ambassador for her homeland - or one section of it, if nothing else – has been a privilege, and a fun ride indeed, for she hadn’t called it that she would’ve amassed such knowledge, kinship, and understanding from a city and association which is first and foremost a human-forged one, and above that, were previously closely tied to the Alliance. But they’ve spared her a new fascination and clarity for that Azeroth is not all bloodshed and old wounds.  
That’s not to suggest that this has proceeded bereft of difficulties. She has rendered some decisions that they…haven’t outright approved of, acts which could even be esteemed as low-level crimes, but they astonished her anew by welcoming her back. It’s foreseeable that were she human and played by these means in Quel’Thalas, she would’ve been banished. Something to reflect on.

Kass’ borrowed office in Dalaran is stored not too long in distance from the Violet Citadel, the chambers of the Council of Six, leaders of the magocracy. She does irregularly let herself be accommodated in the Horde quarters as well, where she experiences an ounce of additional safety and homeliness, in no small measure as this is where her people are settled, but she is loyal to her homeland and values her obligations to the Order, and thus she obeys the wishes to follow through concerns straight with the Kirin Tor. She does spend hours at a time here, and often trot down into their vast and capacious libraries, to scavenge for various tomes, papers, scrolls, and essays for untrodden information and expertise. It is all for the betterment of her role as a future Magister.

It’s par for the course with her to grab a cup of tea to go along with her paperwork, whether it be the reading of thick arcane publications or administration to file. Though some of her peers would turn up their noses to the fact, she has garnered a liking for the particular blend harvested and brewed outside a place known as Stardust Spire in Ashenvale, designated ‘Stardust’s Harvest’. It carries the wondrous aroma of the forest, a thick and deep taste which rustles in her belly. But to her, this is now utterly palatable, owing to the validity that her sister is to marry a kaldorei. Why ought she not invite her new family’s culture into her heart, despite that they were ancient rivals?

Howbeit, this particular day does not run by the ordinary lanes of schedules and studying, for it presents her with a mystery that she had not laid out for herself.  
At times, she has come to estimate that the Kirin Tor will have sent one of their assistants or apprentices to her office, to give her a chart to consider, documents to sign or information to process for her leaders. But as she bears her cup to the desk today, her gaze scanning the flat wooden peak, the note she finds tucked under the chief pile is not at all like the common ones. Not only is it evidently hidden-yet-exposed, so that one who draws near the chair will glimpse it, but there is a faint trace of arcane magic hangovers, which is odd. It’s so sparse that almost solely very vigilant mages can discern it…or the sin’dorei’s natural magic-finding senses. The Kirin Tor does deal in magic quite extensively, what with being a ménage of mages and arcane-bound creatures, but they don’t routinely leave drops of it on their items, nor do they send it to her without preliminary notice.

What could this imply? Is this a trap? No, too obvious. Unless it’s poison in the disguise of sorcery – they are aware of the blood elven necessity for it, after all. Or could it be a message?  
Extending her hand, Kass casts and layers a brisk survey spell on this piece of paper, albeit she does not detect any explicit entanglements. It’s undoubtedly but a clue. Grabbing and slipping it out, all it reads on the back is ‘Nighttime, tomorrow, violet library backrows. For the sake of Quel’Thalas, come alone’.

Hmm. Curious, but also somewhat off. This could be a not-so-elaborate ruse. To measure and believe it comes with the territory was an element of her manual and education of the Magisters, for they come to guard themselves against rivals and outsiders. Magecraft is rarely so simple as to be about magic and nothing beyond – it’s deception and machinations too. Politics, more or less.

But very well, she’ll investigate this library, although she is no fool. Dropping in there emptyhanded is asking for trouble or death, and she won’t fall into someone’s jig.  
This is why minutes following this discovery and torching of the note, she alerts Khroga to the message and the process. The shaman in turn rings up a trio of Horde guards which she confides in – a tauren warrior, a troll archer and a forsaken warlock.

The ‘violet library’ indicated, or the one and only which Kass can identify for this occasion, would be the Citadel library, located ten meters below the surface, and can be reached only by a magical platform, which must then be suffused with a trifle of magic. Handy for a mage, tough for anyone else, which is how the Kirin Tor likes it.

Gathering Khroga and her guards the night after, they thread to the platform in the eastern wing of the main tower, and Kass bids them all to position themselves on the core, prefacing her conjuring and their displacement underground. It’s indeed nighttime, dark, and the violet walls, white-blue stone floor and gold-white roof enlightened by merely the ensorcelled fluorescence of blue arcane torches. The extrinsic walkways prior to the library itself are uninhabited, likely in light of that no guards are needed – Dalaran holds spell-forged guardians of its own, constructs and pitfalls hidden to the unwary.

Kass herself has her black hair in a tied-up bun, the light pink skin of her slender and slightly well-developed build and light green eyes hidden by the grey cloak she’s wrapped in, masking her black-scarlet robes, as well as the golden phoenix brooch on her chest.  
The Horde with her are not fluidly distinguishable either, save for their races one can suppose, merely clad in rudimentary clothing, with hidden blades in their pockets of it. This includes Khroga, her black hair currently in a braid, the light of the torches coating her fern green hide and robust body, as well as her dark brown gaze.

The library itself is a voluminous district of this subterranean area, only a meter or two behind the wall to Kass’ left, but plainly, one must enter the doorway to get inside. The arcane sentinels posted by the Kirin Tor are not inordinate for one such as Kass to slip by, overarchingly as she’s got a handle on the passcodes which are utilized to gain access.  
But for now, they halt out in the corridor, as the Arcanist executes a fleeting enchanted foraging, to excavate for presences in this location. Results are bound for her in seconds, and the blood elf narrows her eyes with suspicion.

Khroga heeds it, with the other Horde trio busy viewing the terrain, and she angles nearer to the elf.  
“What’s wrong?”

Kass shakes her head, no more than a flicker.  
“Not…wrong, fundamentally, but I…can’t feel anyone. None of the mages, but this was a given. I thought I might spy my ‘caller’, though, but…”

Her blatant uncertainty unhinges Khroga, and the orc furrows her brow.  
“Is this wise, zak’tro? If there legit is someone in there, just scheduled for your entry, shouldn’t we put up some defenses? Or better yet, simply storm the damn place, snatch the bastard and interrogate ‘em back in the Horde quarters. Seems more risk-proof.”

Kass smiles fondly at her lover, partially in light of the sweet orcish pet name, and strides to her, kissing the orc’s cheek during the time that she rests her hands on the jacket which adorns the shaman’s chest.  
“I appreciate your apprehension and protection, but I’ll be alright. And whatever we might wish for, we can’t predict if this person will hightail it upon discovery. There must be some caution ingrained here. We haven’t so far been able to capture the characteristics of our contact, and I have to know.  
Trust me, dear, I won’t topple into someone’s mine without effort.”

The shaman’s brow won’t untangle, but she does slide her fingers under the hood, and through the elf’s soft strands.  
“I do, but…”

“But what?”

“If they hurt you in any way, I…”

The mage snorts softly, dabbing her lips onto Khroga’s nose, and then parks them by the mouth, one of the white tusks prodding her in the vein which endears her.  
“Then I’ll rely on you to be my captor’s bristling reckoning. I don’t feel unsafe when you’re here. But I can do this.”

With an emission of air, Khroga poses a hand on the sin’dorei’s tinier waist, pulling her near and pushes her passion upon and into that heavenly mouth, internally begging the elements to fend for Kass and to sustain the shaman with potency. Although Kass is used to this place, for Khroga, Dalaran is offbeat and unnerving. Even the sin’dorei of Quel’Thalas have rangers, hunters, warriors, paladins and more. Who can live with nothing but magic to entrust? It’s too…fickle.  
“At the slightest issue, shout my name, alright?”

“Tsk. I’ll only be in the other room, dearest. But yes, I shall.”  
Kass turns her eyes downwards, to the orc’s belt, where she’s hiding two one-handed axes beneath her own cloak. It’s what she’s resorted to now that Magokash, her father’s greataxe, has been left by his side.  
“You can cope with them well enough yet?”

The orc smirks at her.  
“Hah. Zak’tro, my previous setup was with steel like this. So yeah, won’t be a problem.”

Kass all but imitates this expression, fondling the orc’s jaw and neck.  
“Mmm. I like that confidence.”

“Know you do.”

With a swift sigh and a flutter of her cloak, Kass nods at Khroga, receives one in turn and then marches onwards, to the door and the guardians outside, to tackle their mysteries. Outmaneuvering the constructs enough, for she offers the code that she’s procured, they permit her entry. Flat inside the first step, she peers to the right and heads towards one of the tables, where a box of candles is tucked at the floor. She fetches one and a holder, lighting it with her spells.

The Citadel library is not the largest in existence, not even in this city, but it is quite broad and replete with age-old and forbidden volumes, scrolls and dissertations, ones that are but available for a set number of individuals which the Council commend. Kass’ admittance into it was half fluke, half political maneuvering. In their bargain to assist the Kirin Tor, the Magisters convinced both them and the Horde leadership to concede a few places into this library for some of their members. And it just so happened that Kass’ present superior – Canilae Saratheol, the one who Kass was allotted to post-invasion – was one of the Magisters given a pick. Luckily for the young Arcanist, she’s worked to gain the favor of this lady, who okayed Kass’ transfer to Dalaran. Magister Canilae is not a huge fan of the prevailingly-human city at any rate, so anyone willing to trudge through it with some form of competence and knowledge was desirable to her.

The ceiling of the library stands no more than five meters up or so, and the room’s view is chiefly blocked by the files of shelves and books, which renders it quite uncomplicated to veil oneself in the surroundings, if one stays quiet.  
Throughout her transit along theses chains of texts, Kass peeks from below her hood, to glance left and right, leveraging the light from the candle to array some variety of sight at her flanks, but to no avail – she can’t spot a soul.

Upon reaching the exact line where the furthermost sequence of containers are located, her left ear flinches and catches a voice somewhere in the darkness behind her - a softer one, possibly a woman’s - speaking in Common.  
“That’s far enough.”

Fascinating, for a plethora of backdrops. The reality of that she couldn’t with wizardry locate this sender manifests that it’s a person who has the ability to spellbound-wise slip under the radar, or can decrease their life signs to the stage where not even thaumaturgy can determine its pulse…or, it’s not an actual person here. An illusion? Too early to speculate.  
Moreover, this individual clear got past the guards, so either they too have the passcodes, or they’re sufficiently adept at evading Kirin Tor’s own defenses. On top of that, the vocalization she caught resonates in the room with no foregrounded deposit, so she can’t so much as put her own natural senses into action. Someone who doesn’t wish to be seen all in all.

But she is somewhat assuaged by that they wield their words prior to weapons. If they willed her death, she would’ve been ambushed the second she stepped into position. So, someone who is in the mood for a conversation.  
“Who are you?”, demands Kass. “What do you want?”

“Remove your hood, please, and state your name.”

Hmm. It would appear that she isn’t the foremost of the two who can posit the road for them.  
Kass initiates by pulling down her hood, places the candle on a small table next to a shelf and then crosses her arms firmly.  
“An act for an act. Show yourself, and I’ll tell you my name.”

“I have it recorded already, but I need it confirmed.”

And what would stop her from misinforming them?  
“Kassari Silvershroud, Arcanist of the Silvermoon Magister Order.”

She holds her breath for a few seconds. Was that the requisition of an assassin lining up her shot?  
“Arcanist Kassari. Who do you serve?”

“Is this another test?”, she asks impatiently. “If you have my name on your list, undeniably you are well-aware of my allegiance.”

“Your ranks, perhaps, but fealty is another matter.”

And what does that symbolize?  
“So, you’re not with the Kirin Tor”, Kassari asserts, more as an inquisition pursuit of her own, but it does come off as a declaration.

“No, I am not with the Kirin Tor. I represent…interests in Quel’Thalas. Its welfare.”

Kass furrows her brow. This is one slippery bastard, for she truly can’t perceive a glimmer of their origins in this library. Are they even looking at her?  
“Of Quel’Thalas? Other than my own?”

“Yes…and no. I suppose that is what I’m here to elucidate.”

Is this some form of investigator? An inquisitor? But no, that would prove unfeasible, for by all odds, an agent of her homeland would’ve been more open, right? This reeks more of a plot, someone stacking the cards against…well, what?  
“And why would I be forthright with you? One who won’t even reveal herself.”

“I’ve laid my hands on data which would be quite fetching for a woman such as yourself.”

Again, interesting. Didn’t deny the gender proposal, though that may have been conscious. Preferable to predicate not a thing.  
“And that is…?”

“Clarification first.”

Kass exhales. Not a complete fool, then.  
“My superior is Magister Canilae Saratheol, of the Ashen Crest Tower.”  
Uncommunicative once more, for a couple of seconds.  
“You brought me forth here, whoever you are, so I’d be quite disposed to gaining some answers of my own. You have it that Quel’Thalas is endangered, are you? By what?”

But there isn’t a conclusion to her inquest, but another bit of scrutiny.  
“You are a Silvershroud. A House that was spurned for its activities, expelled from nobility long before. Years ago, they sold out your nation, unshut the barriers of Quel’Thalas to the Scourge and may well have been one of the largest causes for sentencing half your population to its demise. You were a mage, a member of the Magisters who quite possibly could’ve been their benefit, but whatever the case, you didn’t facilitate their aspirations. Why? Why would you forsake your relatives for your nation?”

Kass’ face soon distorts into a frown and her indignance takes charge.  
“How do you know any of this?”

“Please, I require your cooperation.”

“What right do _you_ have to question _me_ on anything?! I am an Arcanist, and you are nothing but a skulker of the shadows! Show yourself, or you will regret crossing me as well as the Magister Order, you little wretch!”  
Unlike her kinder and more patient sister, Kass can be as explosive as the fire she wields.

The stranger, now wary and shaky, portrays indecision, being taken aback.  
“I uh…please, Arcanist…a thousand apologies. I…didn’t mean to cause offense, if I did. I’m not…questioning you, or your loyalty, or your exploits. In fact, my substance is…comprehensively counter to it.  
My belief is that you have showcased your faithfulness to the kingdom and its royal family past general notions of blood and tradition. By token, your word and soul is to _Quel’Thalas_ , not to your family…or your Order. And that is why I sought you. Is this not an accurate description?”

And thus, Kass’ rage marginally lightens. So, it’s not someone who’s here to indict her, or at least ostensibly not strike at the Magister Order. What then?  
“Yes, you have the right of it. I seized this position to serve my people, my home and its interests. Everything I’ve accomplished up until this point is for them. Well…almost.  
‘Everything for Quel’Thalas’ was something I was…taught.”

“Tremendous. Then you are the right person for me. With the proviso that you’re still intrigued by what I’ve suggested, and you strive to do something in favor of your homeland, in two nights, tread into Archmage Timear’s office and look at the fourth shelf to the rear. I’ll leave a missive for you. Read it and discard it.”

Subsequently, and just prior to Kass’ follow-up probing, she overhears the tapping of feet shifting and prowling off. My my. Her spy, or whomever this is, thinks to bail out.  
“Wait just a minute!”, she calls out, and darts after them.

The pace of these steps then mounts, and it would appear the woman is attempting to flee. Kass wrinkles her brow – she’ll not let this one slip from her. She casts a hasty conjuring, and the fullness of her frame is thrown forward in time and space, teleported ten meters ahead, in between some shelves, more on the doorstep of this lady.  
However, the scope of her is yet too daunting, and though Kass can catch it’s also someone in a cloak, there is nothing else. And damn she’s fast, like a true sprinter.

What’s worse, this woman occupies techniques which connect with Kass’, albeit somewhat more…sophisticated, perhaps? She can glean the arcane in the vicinity, and then how her foe practically _floats_ through the shelves, temporarily phasing out of reality, and then in good time, re-emerges on the opposing end. This is some damn complex piece of magery, and for someone who may not at all be of the Kirin Tor. Not only is it speedier than what Kass can produce, but also more frequent, for she makes it work for her twice more in the span of ten seconds, down to where she’s right outside the doorway. Could this feasibly be…a blue dragon of some brand, in the guise of a person? They are capable of such artistry.

With naught else to dedicate, Kass grows desperate.  
“Khroga! Get her!”

The shrouded woman reaches the hallway with Khroga and the guards anon, but upon the orc launching a grapple attempt of her, she phases away another time, and in this moment gliding past the totality of the pack, as if she or they were mere unbroken air.  
The Horde reinforcements are flabbergasted, Khroga likewise, but the shaman grits her teeth and deviates to bolt after her, picking up one of her axes from her belt, whereas this lady perishes into the darkness.

The second she is but a couple of meters from the teleporter up to the surface, Khroga heaves her axe and hurls it forward, aiming for her quarry, disregarding the need to take the target alive…  
…but it’s too late. The mysterious figure dissolves into nothingness and the axe pulses and chinks the wall upon penetrating it. A split-second ahead, and they might’ve had a chance.

Two days later, at nighttime, Kass does as she was bid by her fuzzy and ambiguous ‘ally’ for the preservation of Quel’Thalas, infiltrating the office of Archmage Timear. Imminent to the exact whereabouts that the coordinates were situated, she discovers another piece of paper with an identical arcane residue which a sin’dorei’s gifts can be enticed to.  
On it, she finds a set of numbers and letters – ‘AS A. 41-3-16. P 236’. Kass’ eyes stretches, her mind expanding over the possibilities – she knows where this leads. But why in the Sunwell’s name would she be sent back there of all places?


	2. A master's will

Quel’Thalas, the land of gold and fire, the land of eternal summer, the land of the Sun’s Cradle, the land of autumn everlasting, the last relic of Eternity, the heir of the Highborne. The country possessed by the sin’dorei, previously quel’dorei, the children of the blood vindication and the scar of undying, the blood elves.  
This is the vertex where their Highborne forefathers and mothers made landfall thousands of years ago, in the byproduct of the victory against the Burning Legion, and instituted a nation which would change the history of the eastern continent, and the fortunes of a great degree of people who live there – ill for the trolls who called this their native land, prosperity for the humans who later became their allies.

Navigating above the route north, one will spot a sea of vegetation, of yellow and crimson trees, the shades of autumn, but also the lifeblood of the sin’dorei. One standout note of concern would naturally be the blighted green-grey land in the south, the scarred remains of the Scourge’s infestation and contamination of the sprawling farmlands, minor towns, fishing villages and military outposts that once dwelled here.

But it does not wholly spoil the grandeur of the humongous sight to the north, the winged white-gold-red towers, the domed tops of hulking facilities, the fiery phoenix icons of the blood banners, the magically hovering platforms, and shining through it all, the restored living light of the Sunwell in its background – the screaming tide of blood elven civilization, Silvermoon City.  
The lengthiest and loftiest towers in the capital of the country has for generations been quartered primarily two classes of people – Magisters, the leading mages of the community, and members of the Sunstrider family, the royal line. But downstream of the demise of the corrupted Prince Kael’thas, the name of Sunstrider has been flowing into memory, for if any yet live out there, it is not to the awareness of its populace. In their unavailability, the spires have thus come to domineered by the other magic wielders.

One such person, who’s in fact visiting the lower-tier levels of one such construction, is Kassari, concerted with her shaman girlfriend, naturally, as they’re marked for a deliberate destination in the Magister sphere which has not been punctured in years.  
Once she’d been transferred to a new superior, Kass herself never thought she’d ever drop into this chapter again, and yet here she is. But her largest disturbance is not in any way confounding, for she asks herself – is she doing this for the right cause?

Her memories are playing haywire with her mind here too – the ocean blue carpet with root-like silver ornaments, the lynx eye-emblazoned arcane torch holders, the closed vaulted doorways, the heightened ceiling with blobs of sun symbols in between. She’s wandered here more than once, on the imperative of a woman who…gave Kass a chance. Hoped to give her family a chance, but they…

Outside of one singular door stands the one contrasting element here, discrepant and fresh – the dreadnought magic-energized mechanical creature, an Arcane Guardian. These enormous organisms, despite being painted in gold, does stick out aplenty in Silvermoon, with their foreign metal, weird visor faces, crystal hearts and joints. Kass knows for a fact that they are not blood elven technology, but filched from draenei and naaru property when the Prince’s coalition raided a facility famed as ‘Tempest Keep’.  
Though their voices are gentle and friendly, it betrays this frankly terrifying exterior. To her, whether or not they’re fueled by arcane energy, speak in thalassian and wear sin’dorei hallmarks, is beyond the point – they are draenei crafts. Oh, sin’dorei have ever borne examples of Arcane Guardians, even in the olden days to be sure, but not of this design. The reinforced tech is not of elven hands, but the more advanced draenei, or rather eredar. What would Rivaryn’s friend Raxeen state if she beheld these modified editions?

Reaching the fringe of the entryway that the construct supervises, it comes to life upon detecting the vivid signals by the two and mechanically deviates to meet them.  
“Genial citizens”, a friendly voice booms from the speakers of this five meter tall invention, “be cautious of that these premises are off-limits. Sole allowance is given to Magisters and their retainers. Please vacate the area prior to being removed, and have a pleasant day.”

That intonation and the hulking shape of it…she’s not fond of these beings something fierce. They are…unnerving, the veneer of graciousness.  
Kass straightens herself, rectifies and smoothens the front of her robes and clears her throat.  
“I am Arcanist Silvershroud of the Magister Order. I require entrance into this facility – authorization code ‘Shiv’alen ishan terret beloradena’.”

A couple of seconds go by, with the guardian standing eerily quiet, before it activates its legs and with hefty steps, backtracks.  
“Authorization code accepted. Welcome back, apprentice Silvershroud.”

With it trotting to the left end of the gateway, Kass breathes a sigh of quelled content and advances on the path. She lays her fingers on the surface of it, the circumference of this item being depicted with stylized flames. With the arcane laden at her fingertips, she spawns a number of logos in thalassian, and thus, the arcane barricade which armors it is dispatched too.

In the meantime, Khroga stares at her girlfriend with an addled look.  
“Did it just call you…apprentice? But aren’t you…?”

“Yes, I am, but this warden – albeit supposedly upgraded as of late – appertains to an obsolete system. They haven’t bothered filtering in the recent news, I wager.”

Unbolting the door, they pass into a fantastic room, which automatically brightens at their entry with enchanted fire, showcasing a labyrinth of white and silver-lined corridors, chockablock with shelves containing books, scrolls, a menagerie of artifacts, boxes on the floor, paintings upon the walls, spinning gemstones in the airspace, tables with paperwork, half-done reports and charts, glass display cases featuring bridled living spells and materials, all of it conceivably stretching from wall to wall on this floor of the tower.  
Remarkably, no more than subspaces of it are in fact dusty, and solely on a mild scale. Khroga soon glimpses why, as spellbound brooms and brushes scoot along, mopping everything up.

Kass shuts the door with a telekinetic cast behind her girlfriend.  
“This is the official office and archive of my master.”

“Your master? The…Saratheol lady?”

“Well… _former_ master – Magister Anisra Sah’nir. The mother of Ranger-Captain Trienza Sah’nir, as a matter of fact. She was the one who apprenticed me, signed me on to be one of the few Silvershroud Magister apprentices in millennia.”

Khroga marvels at the interior of their locale, also realizing this is but one zone of a Magister’s wherewithal.  
“Oh. Huh. Hadn’t foreseen that lady even had…ya know, a mother.”

Kass snorts with faint amusement, but also…wistfulness?  
“Though they argued often, she was a chip off the old block. They had similarities, but also…not. I’m not kidding when I tell you that Trienza had been coached into her strict mentoring style by her mother, even supposing she adapted it for the military.”  
As they get a load of this overlarge complex of collected research, secret catalogues and annals, and tomes of enigmatic lore, Kass goes on.  
“My initiation into the Magisters had a degree of…unorthodox procedures to it. Aspirants and people who have a mind to sign up with the Order traditionally are called upon to show up at national examinations, a form of…written, magical and mental test. But occasionally, targeted talented individuals are authorized for so-called ‘purposed sponsorships’, individual Magisters who gain an investment for someone that they fancy guiding, to circumvent the system.”

“And…you were one of those sponsored people?”

“I was, yes. Although Magister Anisra was…reasonably suspicious of me to begin with, considering my status as a Silvershroud.”

Khroga befoggedly curves her eyebrow.  
“Uh, okay. Why’d she take you on then?”

“I trust it factored in Captain Trienza, that she held a soft spot for my sister, and therefore smooth-talked her mother.”

“Isn’t that cheating?”

Kass smiles wryly at her girlfriend.  
“Cheating is an element of being a Magister, dearest. It’s akin to the ranks of Archmages in the Kirin Tor, and has little in common with mere magical proficiency – it is power, guile and finagling. Nothing in the upper towers are what I would regard as fully ‘fair’.”

“…sounds a lot like warlocks.”

“I suppose, notwithstanding our corporeal magic does not intrinsically corrupt the land. And it isn’t nearly as cutthroat, just...competitive.  
In the long term, however, master Anisra grew to favor me, respect me, you could say, and value my contributions. This is why I am the one person alive in Silvermoon who can take stock of this private archive. Well, up till the Order gets it into their heads that the network is in need of a revamp, but who knows when that day is due?”

“She didn’t carry any other apprentices?”

“During her entire career? Oh yes, unequivocally, but amid my tutoring, I was her most immediate. Magisters mentor a bunch of people in general, but the furthest of them ascend at most to the rank of apprentice. A scant cut of every apprentice that’s bestowed to a Magister go down the road of ‘Assistants’, people who work personally for the Magister. They’re received as portraying the potential for not simple arcane prowess, but political and ideally, leadership. They serve the Magister with aiding their research, penning letters, organizing their workload, attend them on meetings etc.”

“So…you were one of her uh, assistants?”

“Mhm. She chose only one in a century or two, and I was her elected person. One of the mages she trusted beyond mere teacher-to-student relations – and not for my spellcraft versatility, but my formidability on the political plane. I showed promise not solely how to be a _mage_ , but a _Magister_ , one of the authoritative classes of Quel’Thalas.”  
She glances down at the floor, a bout of melancholy in her greens.  
“It was…the greatest honor of my life. The greatest tribute the Silvershrouds had reaped in ages. I…wish my family had intuited that…” She smiles with sorrow. “I still…recall the afternoon she said to me ‘Kassari, I have come to a decision today – you are to be my new assistant’. I was…overjoyed, overwhelmed. I didn’t…didn’t know what to do with myself. As I thanked her profusely, she glared at me. ‘Don’t look too pleased. You’ll be working in the archives at five in the morning tomorrow, sharp’, and then marched to her desk.”

“Wow uh, that sounds…kinda harsh?”

“Are you kidding? Some assistants had to wait _years_ to enter these archives. Giving me this commission was a sign of trust.  
Anyway, a multitude of people fell in the invasion, Magisters included, and there hasn’t been anyone around to clean and order the assets of this installation. Inspired by the empty seats everywhere, some offices lay inert awaiting a new steward.”

Khroga nods.  
“Well, ‘least you got these brooms and stuff, moving about the place.”

Kass blinks, having only distantly noticed them.  
“Hmm? Oh, yes, them. That’s a staple in the bulk of venues in Quel’Thalas.”

“Yeah, saw it on my last trip here. They have them in stores too?”

“Well, of course. You can requisition them.”

“…from whom?”

“The Magisters. Our Order crafts and restocks them. Well, not the Magisters themselves, that would be absurd, but their apprentices. It’s one of the activities of non-assistants, along with other menial ones. It’s a vehicle to expand your foundational studies.”  
Sweeping her optics along the walkway, off the walls and torches, topping the shelves and the elemental mats, Kass sighs with a morsel of longing.  
“One day, Sunwell willing, I’ll fill this with my own stuff, intellectual pursuits…and apprentices. It’s what I believe my master would’ve cared to see.”

Khroga’s lips bend upward and she rubs Kass’ shoulder.  
“Hey, you’ll get there sooner or later.”

The mage runs her slenderer fingers astride the orc’s, intertwining them.  
“If not, I’ll have failed her.”

“Why is it that we’ve checked in on this place? When you plucked that missive, building on your expression, you knew precisely where we had to fly off to.”

With a dimmed nod, Kass prompts her forward and they head off into the corridors of the archive. Kass hardly even lends them a gander, as she is immersed in her goal, fully cognizant of where the endpoint is.  
At a distinctive shelf, no different from the rest, she breaks and trawls through it, her digits brushing and flicking the back of the books, and the dark green-painted wooden framing.

“What’re these books?”

“Mm, an historical registry”, Kass states somewhat absentminded. “Details and chronicles exploits and research of the Magister Order in the third era, under Queen Kennalyn. Four thousand years or so, give or take.  
To be blunt, these aren’t terribly engrossing, the lot of them markedly standard. I can’t fathom why that woman was so persistent that this is our aspiration, but…”  
Having traced it, Kass pulls out the express tome, reading the cover.  
“’Arcane ecological malformations and causes in thaumaturgically-microenhanced verdure’, by Magister Ceravinus Shoarwood.” Kass shrugs at Khroga upon putting it down on a table. “See? Dull reading.”

“There are actually people who…write this stuff?”

“It’s not a novel, it’s scientific research. But yes. I’m not sure what-“ But then she ceases upon descrying a deviating element, a few pages in. “Wait…”

The shaman entwines her arms.  
“What?”

With her eyes traveling and scraping across the façade of it, Kass then elevates her hand and snaps her fingers, casting a magical visibility glamour and suddenly, a ring of complex lines and patterns showcases itself, in purple.  
“An arcane seal…”

“What’s that? Some type of…wizardry lock?”

“Quite. It’s an enchantment, reserved for the matters of cordoning off valuable or undisclosed information behind a hermetic encryption, composed of intricate magical formations and personalized rune-based frameworks.”

“…o-okay. Uh, and does that…help us in any way?”

“It does, if you possess the accurate cypher.” Kass’ eyes leap, graze and grind over each thread, every solitary identification, letter and inarticulable glyph. Then, she smiles. “And I believe I do. What…what’s the page…? Oh yes, 236.”

Deft as you like, Kass riffles past the various deductive and technological soliloquy, until she falls onto the portion she needs. Summoning a shred of the otherworldly purple-pink energy, the arcane struts and sways over her skin like a tangled, bursting group of candles upon her fingertips. She exploits them to convene five sigils in the air, conceives of and connects them with barely perceivable violet wires and spins them like cogs to erect the proper composite.  
Upon success, she levels it into the book, right on the 236th page and revolves one final turn, allowing the page to overload and open a torrent of blue fire; although aberrantly, it does not blister her.

What materializes when it dissolves is an item – some form of mineral chip, no more than a little emerald piece that doesn’t outsize one’s nail.  
“What’s that? A gemstone?”

“No, no. This is just a theurgic rock, a piece to store memories or messages.”

“So…more magic?”

Kass shrugs.  
“You are in Quel’Thalas, gorgeous.”

Taking it up from the page, she sticks it on the table, forges an expedient incantation and inserts this fuel straight into the device. It cascades with light, clicks and then activates something.  
A projected image is thrown wide across it and Kass’ eyes extend involuntarily, as she takes in the view of a woman she has not glanced in years – mildly wrinkled light skin, lilac eyes, dark fire red hair with grey edges, lithe frame endowed by scarlet and black robes that are comparative to a uniform, albeit surpassingly elongated.

“Master…”, she mumbles dumbstruck.

Her countenance is taut, astray of what Kass is accustomed to, her arms tucked across her chest, and she frowns at the displaying contraption with dissatisfaction, but not impatience – trepidation. As she speaks, Kass translates the thalassian to orcish for her girlfriend. Her pitch is a hint deeper, older but tough.  
“ _Recording engaged – this is Magister Anisra Sah’nir of the Upper Direflame Tower._ ” She peers to the side at an uncredited piece. “ _Time: 0741. Date: 23-7, seventh age, era of Anasterian._ ” She returns to the projector. “ _Though it was recommended to me to only fashion and provide one incarnation of this message, I am storing this designated copy for personal security reasons into my own archive, but all the same, in a discreet and barred space which will not be uncovered to anyone, excepting anomalous and unimagined circumstances. Assuming said event does transpire, someone is called upon to be the wiser of this communiqué, in despite of Belo’s protestation that it does not leave our circle. I hear him loud and clear, but if we step amiss, won’t our efforts be for nothing?_ "  
For a second then, she drops the hardy mask and drags her feet for some sake.  
“ _Should…should someone puzzle it out lacking my consent, that comes to evidence that I’ve met my demise. In such a case, I…_ ” A shade of sorrow steeps her gaze, her brow slumping. Then she clears her throat and swallows with discomfort. “ _Please, I would plead that the someone who does…give Selmin, Jedleyn and Trienza my love._ ”

Then, the real message starts, and she repeats the preface, precluding the time, which is converted to a few minutes anterior, alluding to that she operated this rock at roughly the same occasion. Her tone is more official here, professional, the stature of a government agent.

“ _Although I have previously attested to my transparent reluctance of Grand Magister Belo’vir’s submission, it has now been made clear that we can no longer abide and be coy of this undertaking. What with the discord down south, which hasn’t lain within our power to fully get a breakthrough on, the humans are digesting something…dire. This calls for drastic methods, and my heart is altered. This is the best route to delve down, I’m now sold on this._  
 _You were itching for a fifth, Belo, and you shall have it – my sanction is granted for Procedure 46-CC-12 Arsh’vela. Let fly the phoenix’s wing._ ”

And then, it drops out of sight and concludes. Khroga and Kass are left categorically puzzled and distraught, in no small measure Kass, who had not thought the future held another sight of her master. She had not imagined how much she…misses that woman.  
“Zak’tro, are you…” Khroga commences, “…were you familiar with a single facet of that message she described?”

Kass requires a second to recuperate and shake her head, stroking the back of her hand over her forehead.  
“…no. It was as confounding to me as it was for you. Arsh’vela…”

“Is that a codeword?”

The mage looks at a loss.  
“I…no? I dunno? It could be operable, but…  
I mean, they are two words, which spell ‘tides’ and ‘grain’, but together, they’re…nada. Literally gibberish. It’s not a term I’ve ever caught wind of in my life.”

“Hmm. And the rest? Belo’vir…something?”

“Belo’vir Salonar was the previous Grand Magister. But the ‘procedure’, needing a fifth, let the…phoenix fly or something? Who knows…  
I couldn’t begin to-“

But then she halts, scenting a glint on the surface of the chip. She runs her fingers on its shell in a renewed attempt, tapping another bit of magic into it. And hence, it comes to animation once more, sending out another picture that hovers above them, but this one still. It shows symbols, landmarks, directions, a location.  
Khroga blinks.  
“Is that…?”

“It’s a map.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _WoW's lore is a bit vague on where the Arcane Guardians originate, and though it is stated in some places that they 'returned to prominence after the invasion', it has always seemed to me that the blood elves took them from Tempest Keep and repurposed them (especially since they weren't in WC3), but they may have had other types of arcane guardians in the past. That's wat I'm rolling with, anyway._   
>  _Also, Kassari and Anisra had a similar albeit not the same type of relationship as Trienza and Rivaryn. The latter were almost verging on mother and daughter, while the former was definitely teacher and student. It was also predominantly professional. Losing her was hard for Kass, but it never cracked her in the fashion which Riv was hit._


	3. Dreamer, dreamer

Breezes laced with seawater, the bristling sun lambent in the heavens, the lapping sounds of waves, a wind that blows unhindered, throwing her strands every which way and her hands are drawn to fasten her clothes tighter.  
A few years must’ve ticked by now since Kassari was last out at sea. At the ultimate evening of the invasion, under the period where a flush of sin’dorei had to escape the fighting and killing which was inferred to inspire no limits. Kass had never been a fan of the wilderness and the open waters even below that, but she will forever be grateful of this arena, for it freed goodly chunks of her people. Well, that _and_ the navy.

Although, today, it’s too untrustworthy to glean what it will deposit her, and what the result is going to enumerate. Salvation? Treachery? The decimation her hidden ally was flinching at?  
She had been wishing for a quick resolution to this riddle, but in controversies and setbacks which compromise a conjugated nation’s cohesion, is there the least bit of conclusions that do not encompass threads which stretch exceptionally longer than what would be of service? In Kass’ experience, corruption and tumult are far-ranging proceedings.

But Kass does yet fancy their chances, for in her capacity as an Arcanist, she is not without resources or benefits, which is the motivation behind her being situated on the deck of a ship today, dressed not in robes – their flapping in this wind goes beyond the pale – but well-fitting black pants, a white and red jacket, sky blue gloves and a black scarf hugging her neck.  
Unavoidably, Khroga is hand in glove with her, clad in burgundy red fur-adorned coat, ocean blue leggings, heavy boots and fingerless black gloves with miniature spikes on the knuckles.

Everywhere in the setting they’re amid, they discern men, women and others, sailors shuffling to and fro, pulling at ropes, spinning wheels, hurling out materials from buckets, drawing on weights, and carrying boxes. These are soldiers in their own right, proud members of the Royal Quel’Thalas Navy, one of the arms of their military, perhaps what one would say was the first.  
It was ships which originally brought their Highborne predecessors to the east, it is the ships which generally ferry cargo and goods to their homeland the quickest, it is the ships which defend them from pirates and other waterlogged hooligans, it is the ships which ever circle the Sunwell caringly, it was the ships which liberated the highest total of quel’dorei out of the invasion’s damnation. And the people have never forgotten them, even if they used to underestimate these briny warriors.

This unique ship’s name, a red-painted vessel and further extended than it is raised, goes by the title of the ‘Brisk Wavehunter’, a quel’dorei frigate that has sailed for years, since a couple prior to the invasion. Its Captain boasts a career which trumps those seasons, but to Kass, she’s storied as a veteran of pirate attacks, the invasion, _as well as_ transporting Rivaryn and her sunsworn to the Isle of Quel’Danas a few years back – Sea-Captain Fadirwae Autumnfield, a light brown-skinned woman with short blonde hair and turquoise eyes, garbed in a Royal Navy uniform, a compact scarlet and sea blue-decorated jacket, robust black boots and suitable beige pants.

Each of the interior organizations which represent Quel’Thalas have their own renditions of their national sign and the navy is no different – a flying phoenix soaring over the waves, a pin which rests on the upper left corner of her chest. To complement it, the black mark of the Horde lies on the flank to the upper right.  
Although Fadirwae and Kassari are not privately tied to one another, Kass has noted a limpid acclamation from the Captain, in all probability being that she’s with the Magisters, and though the Navy has its own inlying structure and hierarchy, the Magisters carry a surmounting reputation for their spellcraft handiwork, the essence which compiled Quel’Thalas once upon a time. In fact, the Navy and the Magisters may be the sovereign cornerstones of their nation, more than the Farstriders, the priesthood, the army, the Reliquary, abundantly beyond the Blood Knights – one lifted them to Quel’Thalas and the other sheltered their people.

Fadirwae is in the thick of it, booming commands and even getting wrapped up in some deeds, tugging at ropes and hauling some of the equipment. Meanwhile, her assistant, a dark blue-hued male Darkspear with long red hair in a braid, runs some recent tidings by her.  
Kass likes the Captain presumably because they’re similar. They rose fleetly in their separate associations, although Fadirwae is a couple of centuries older; they both originate from downtrodden blood, despite that the Autumnfields have never been more than commoners; and most of all, they both believe in the Horde. This is the cause for the Wavehunter being stocked with more than sin’dorei these days, with a trio of forsaken – the sum of them previously quel’dorei – two orcs, trolls, one tauren and even a duo of goblins, all who’ve been willing to move to, live in and serve Quel’Thalas.

She’s been wised up to that the Captain also has a sister and a brother, albeit both younger and the sister supposedly quit Quel’Thalas decades ago to catch a break in some adventures of her own, which upset the older sister.  
Two sisters with deviating paths, who may not see eye to eye on the world, their family and the future – where has she heard that before? Well, not solidly to the same extent as the Revenor twins.

But as they’ve come quite a way, Kass now presents herself to the blonde and prompts her.  
“Captain! Could I have a word with you?”

Fadirwae inclines her head and tells her troll assistant something, likely in orcish, to which he bows and scribbles on a notepad when he wanders off.  
“Arcanist, Shaman, what can I do for you?”

“Well, as fate has it, I came to communicate this to you – we’re coming up on our destination.”

What they’ve been pursuing, pending their departure of Silvermoon, is a symbol on the illusionistic map, which directed them into the ocean west of Quel’Danas, unknown territory.  
This catches the Captain off balance, and she stares at the two.  
“…excuse me?”

Kass hefts the rock in her hand to gesture between them.  
“Grounded on the measurements and the layout of our topographical resources, we are in the scope of our target. It’s bound to be a few more miles, I would surmise? Sounds right.”

Crumping her brow, Fadirwae rubs it and chokes a sigh.  
“Arcanist, whenever asked, I am delighted – _honored_ – to assist the Magisters in all sorts of endeavors, as the sea is our responsibility. But…what in Anasterian’s name is going down here?”

“Pardon?”

She motions with her hand out at the hydrosphere, bereft of anything terribly notable.  
“There is _nothing_ here, Arcanist. Literally nothing above sea level, besides the Wavehunter. No terrain, no ships, no beasts, no nothing. What in any way, shape or form could you be after in this no man’s land?”

Kass jogs her head side to side deprived of an iota of concern, which mazes the Captain.  
“I conjecture this is a division of the riddle we’re attempting to crack. This won’t be immediately apparent, but the clue is out here, mark my words.”

The Captain crooks her eyebrow and glances at the shaman, but Khroga does not inspire as much trust, for she reflects indetermination.  
“And how, pray tell, do you intend to fetch this prize we’re hunting? Bringing along subaquatic equipment never came into play on the briefing you lent me.”

“And none shall be asserted, my dear sailor. This is not a quest for treasure, but a spring of magic.”

“…right. I’ll…ready the crew, then”, she utters skeptically.

Rolling up to the railing, Kass wedges her hands on it and spies out down the body of blue, probing for a bite of what could prospectively be their drive. Khroga interlaces with her, cocking into the selfsame wooden article and mingles her own arms.  
“You’re positive that this wasn’t just like, a trick?”

“A trick? What do you mean?”

“Well, what we saw your master reveal on that message, it was pretty black and white that it’s paramount to…something. Your land, I suppose, going by the references to the annihilation of Lordaeron. Maybe what we spotted was…a deflection? Figured on deceiving thieves that try to thwart their strategy. Strikes me as a solid one.”

Racking her brain, Kass shakes her head.  
“I’m not on your page. That being so, for what would the lady in the library have been so bent on intimating this ordeal from the start?”

“Hmm. Could be she’s one of those who stumbled into this flytrap? Wouldn’t be the first offender to be lax in their evil scheme.”

“No, I don’t believe it”, Kass protests. “This ‘Arsh’vela’ enterprise was designed to be a barrier for the Scourge’s advance, and they are now trounced. This is what we left behind months ago.”

“Are they, though?”, wonders Khroga. “And those deathless dirtbags…weren’t they of an older allegiance, to a darker and larger master?”

Kass’ forehead contorts, but she doesn’t designate any brilliant counters.  
But this is the moment where she ascertains a quirky aspect – a tinkle out in the middle of nowhere, a teeny morsel which she hadn’t spotted previously.  
“Wait, what is that?”

Khroga blinks and follows her sight to whatever she’s peering towards, but she has to squint.  
“What’s what? I can’t see a thing.”

“There, towards the-“ She sighs, realizing it’s futile – this is quite loudly a spellbound phenomenon.  
“Captain!”, she calls to Fadirwae. “Over there!”

The head sailor exhales and then strides to them.  
“Yes?”

“Can you get a fix on it? To the northwest, that little…dot, or whatever. It’s hardly striking, but it is inarguably…something.”

Complying with the Arcanist’s request, if somewhat leerily, she screens the area about them, but she doesn’t extract the same image as Kass. Although, isn’t there…  
“Pa’nesh, my spyglass.”

The young Darkspear comes rushing up to her.  
“Aye, aye, Captain!”

He digs his hand into a satchel that hangs from his shoulder, and legs to her, to the pitch where he can lay it in her hand. She twists it and stretches the instrument out, peering through the minor lens, which magnifies her supervision.  
“I don’t know what you believe you noted, Arcanist, but-“ Then she interrupts herself, her gaze expanded. “N-no! Dath’Remar’s ass, you’re right. I can trace its roots. This is…some form of magic, isn’t it? Looks like an orb of sparks, a light blue…”

“Quite right”, Kass confesses.

“Had it been anyone but us, and we weren’t actively sweeping for it, we’d have sailed right past-…  
But what’s it doing here?”

The second she drops the device and peeks at the Arcanist, she distinguishes a bolt of fire invoked in Kass’ claws.  
“Showing us the way.”

The Captain grabs a step behind, lifting a protective hand in front of Pa’nesh, who retracts his own feet. With a determined visage, Kass takes aim and flings the fire across the sea. When the crackling orb interacts with the spell, it swallows and absorb the flame, the lead-up to the triggering of its frontal components and the illusion releases.  
Right in front of their eyes, as if materializing out of nothingness a kilometer or two to the northwest, earth, trees, grass, and sand is laid forth, like its prevailed here from the off. The veil is stripped away wholeheartedly, unveiling its extent too, a good few kilometers from beach to beach, whilst it doesn’t reach above two meters or so over sea level.

Kass nods satisfyingly, whereas her companions and Khroga stand there, gawking. Ultimately, Fadirwae reacts.  
“Lower the sails! Drop the anchor!”, she calls, getting her crew to rush into action.  
Conjointly, the four here stare at the newly popped island, reasonably trying their darndest to decrypt where exactly they are to go from here, in this particular morass.  
“I…suppose you scouted our land then, Arcanist.”

“It would appear that way, wouldn’t it?”

“And…now? What’s our first-line of action in this mess? Should we drop the landing boats?”

Kass brushes a few unruly strands behind her ear and glances at the Captain.  
“Retain this position, if you would. Khroga and I going to that island and will explore it.”

She extends her hand against Khroga, who fetches it hesitantly. Fadirwae is at a proportional conflict.  
“Okay…but how do you wish to-“  
Boosting her hand to the skies, Kass snaps her fingers, and the arcane bursts around her and the shaman, consuming them both. A couple of seconds down the river, they emerge on the beach. Fadirwae groans.  
“…oh. Right. Mages…”  
  


* * *

  
Reappearing in physical reality, Kass and Khroga gradually detach their hand and readjust to where they’ve been mounted, something that is more convenient for Kass, in light of her accustomed state to spelled transportation. She sends a wave to the Wavehunter’s crew, to mark that they’re okay, prior to transferring herself to their new surroundings.

Khroga herself does the same, albeit she sniffs the air.  
“There’s something…odd in the atmosphere. Smells like…”

“Artificiality?”

“…I’ve no clue what that would smell.”

“Perhaps not, but I suspect this _is_ an engineered isle.”

“How…does one _make_ an island?”

“With great effort, magical assets and skill.”  
Once they commence wandering in through the ground, they pass by blooming trees and grass, the former containing fresh and ripe apples, a few of them having falling to the dirt. In the center, there are plots of fertile land, where someone has blatantly been growing food. Off to the east is a rack with fishing rods, casually lodged at the seaside.  
“Whoever stayed here, they could organically sustain themselves.”

“…but why’d they want to?”

Regardless, at present, what’s written all over its plane is that this is abandoned.  
They press on, overlooking the fallow leavings of an untouched harvest and progress at the northern stretches of the isle, where they can within moments remark the roof of a house. It’s a small one and predicated on the red domed nature of the top, the white walls and the scarlet accoutrements, it’s inarguably of sin’dorei-make – or in this case, more prudently, quel’dorei, pre-invasion.

Even if there is no tangible road, they near it with cagey footfalls, guarantying that they’re not fumbling into an ambush or inconspicuously fixed traps.  
To their chagrin, at a few hundred meters’ extension, the pair of them make a definitive distinction – there’s a hole in the eastern wall, a sizable one to boot.  
“Sun’s grace, no…” mutters Kass.

“Were we-…is this too far gone?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell if…”

Kass has hampered her own pace for now, in two minds whether this is safe or if they ought to pull out.  
Before they manage to pierce any form of entrance, however, Khroga taps Kass’ arm and points at something on the ground.  
“Over there.”

Upon beholding it, the sin’dorei gasps – a body. It’s outwardly an armored figure, but there are no testaments of motion or so much as a breath. From this remove, their initial instinct whispers to them that this one is dead.  
Kass stares at it with mildly horrified and deterred eyes, and she swallows.  
“Could you….?”

As a shaman, Khroga has received abundantly more interaction with the dead than Kass, except that this isn’t rightly the cause for her distress – it’s that this is her people. There were enough dead quel’dorei a few years prior. Consequently, Khroga inclines her head and gravitates at it in isolation.  
Kneeling down by its right side, in proximity of the head, Khroga delivers her first conclusion.  
“Well, it’s been laying here for a while.”

“How…how do you know?”

“Because it’s all but a skeleton.” She glances upwards. “Can’t speak for the timeline, cuz I can’t determine the climate in this artificial thing, but I’d say it was temperate. Skeletonization ensues differently with respect to the atmosphere, temperature and weather. Could’ve been here for weeks, could be a year.”

“Do you glimpse any noticeable characteristics?”

“On the person? No.” She eyes their tools. “Armor looks elven enough, and there’s a seal on its chest. It’s kinda like the Quel’Thalas one.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’s like…different. Has a couple of accessories.”

“I…  
Could you remove it and bring it to me?”

“Could try.”  
Unsheathing one of her axes, Khroga works the tip to pry the logo off the armor with diligent hands, and then rises to come up on the Arcanist once more.

Handing the mark over, Kass holds it gingerly, fitting intuitively into her thin hands. Khroga was right, it does in a sense come off as the national symbol of Quel’Thalas, with the shape of a tower between the wings.  
“Ah yes, this is the impresa of the Magisters. Every collective in our domain utilizes the phoenix, the sign of Quel’Thalas and the Sunstriders. However, each portray their own additions – a tower for the Magisters, the waves for the Navy, double firing arrows for the Farstriders, crossed swords for the Silvermoon Guard, a red phoenix with a black backdrop for the Blood Knights, and so on.” Her face then rucks up. “But this is…an abnormality.”

Khroga glances at her.  
“What is?”

She strokes a finger on the pin’s framing.  
“You see this silvery fire? I’ve never examined this on _any_ of our marks. No force of Quel’Thalas utilizes this.”

The shaman scratches her neck in thought, turning to the corpse from afar.  
“Could it be some…outlier? Secret ops?”

“I…suppose, but I’ve never heard-  
…you know what? I’m going to stop myself right there, for none of what we’ve experienced in the past week or whatever has made a single atom of sense to me.”

“You wanna explore the house?”

Kass rubs her own arm, qualms running along her body.  
“I didn’t detect any presences in the vicinity, but…”

Khroga surveys her girlfriend, grasping her hand.  
“You don’t need to go, zak’tro. But it may be valuable.”

Kass meets her lover’s understanding gaze, feeling more than a little safe to have her here.  
“Yeah, you’re right. We started this investigation… _we_ should persevere, not just you.” She sighs. “I didn’t mean to foist this all on you…”

The orc smiles and now slides the arm around Kass’ back.  
“Hey, it’s you and me, right? You know I’ll support you, like you do for me. And besides, Quel’Thalas’ business is Horde business. You don’t have to do this in solitude.”

As they fare inside by way of the crack in the wall seeing as the door is bolted, they nose out added bodies, havoc, debris, and materials thrown left and right. The center of the complex is rather generic for a quel’dorei home to be perfectly honest, covering the regular gear one can anticipate – chairs, tables, shelves and drawers in their style, bright wallpapers with corners that display curls and swirlies in white and gold, the infrequent appearance of the phoenix emblem, planted mageroyals and more flowers that one can chance upon in Eversong, candleholders which antecedently have grasped magical fires, rounded cushion chairs and beds with see-through cloth, hookahs etc.  
Goes without saying that the vivid discrepancy is the burns and the chaos – furniture has been hurled, lamps broken, cloth torn. Even items of use, such as scrolls, books and more have been burnt. There was undoubtedly a clash in this abode at some stage, but between who? And what is the identity of these victims? Granting that they were victims at all, that is…

“These flames - is it a mage’s work?”, questions Khroga.

Kass has halted by the gap, with the orc further inside. But the elf sways her head.  
“No, this isn’t my variety of fire, nor are they what I would judge as demonic – they’re explosions. Alchemy, perchance, or an engineer. I could grill Rivaryn later.”

“She’s the one to ask, yeah.”

Kass exhales, her brow pinched, and arms folded.  
“This feels…wrong. Someone attacked this place, potentially months ago, and slaughtered every soul. But what gave them this basis, and what was their ultimate goal? Who did my superiors stash in this region, and why was it of such gravity? And perhaps the key factor of the entire dilemma – who discovered them?  
This occurred in the height of the war against the Lich King, through the months when we were diverted by the Scourge. Who would benefit from such subterfuge?”

In the middle of Kass’ slight monologue, Khroga has gone silent, in part due to that her mind is reacting to a split fabric of this room – her shamanistic training allows her to catch a cold sweep of a wind, the shifting of some fallen pickings, a faraway notion of a whisper, a chill down her spine, unwilling or no.  
“There are still specters here”, she blurts out.

Kass blinks at her in befuddlement.  
“Pardon?”

Khroga rises, a hand on the hilt of her axe, and scowls at the environment.  
“I sense a disturbance in the air…the spirits of the dead. They haven’t retreated to the lands beyond.”

The mage gasps in wonder.  
“Oh, that’s right! It had completely eluded me you were capable of that. What…what does this mean? Can you…speak with them?”

Checking the walls and roof in a final attempt, Khroga then whips to Kass.  
“I can instigate an ethereal communion, yeah.” With some delay, she touches her own neck. “But uh, never given it a go with high or blood elven spirits until now.”

“Would that give you trouble?”

“I mean, it could. I dunno. I’ve spoken with orcish, Bloodhoof tauren and Darkspear troll ancestors, but each are…special. ‘specially yours, for the sake of how dependent you guys are on the arcane.”

“Well, the troll tribes and empires are of resembling backgrounds…”

“Not so much the Darkspear, though. For them, the sticking points were their loa, and for tauren, their druidic connections.  
Furthermore, to worsen the pie, murdered souls have a tendency to uh…leave some gruesome scars. If you went out in unimaginable pain, you won’t exactly be restful.”

Kass now caresses her own hair with fitful moves.  
“Wouldn’t it…hurt you, then?”

“I wouldn’t reckon, but who can tell? I can give it a shot. There are some prerequisites, though. Well, reagents – belongings, a few pieces found in their last location, some fresh dirt, a name or other information that pertains to the individual, as well as a few specific petals and leaves that have to be ground down, dust, and feasibly some blood in this scenario.”

Kass oscillates for a moment, appraising the fallen about them.  
“Well, there are bodies present. Not sure if we can sight a name or such…  
And as for blood, well, you could…take mine.”

The orc smiles reassuringly.  
“Didn’t say it had to be blood of a person. It’s linked to life energy and vigor, which is why it’s gotta be recently lifted. A fish’s would do – go grab some leaves from the trees and plants out there, a couple of flowers, and ask the Captain to catch something for us, would ya?”

The Arcanist contemplates this proposal, and then reciprocates the emotion, nodding.  
“Alright, dearest. Will you…be okay in this place?”

“Yeah, no sweat. I’ll search one of these poor dropped-off bastards.”  
  


* * *

  
With Kass’ reappearance later on, she discovers that girlfriend has now rigged up a site for her communion, which does in some fashion stack up to a summoning circle, if not for the fact that this is not made of magic, but dust, ashes, earth and some other ingredients. At Kass’ side is Sea-Captain Autumnfield, who portrays some mild dismay.  
“What’s…going on here?”

Khroga deflects her eyes at the woman.  
“Captain? Wouldn’t have believed you’d come in person.”

“The Arcanist shed light on that there was some form of…ritual which had to be partaken of. I would not risk any of my own crew for a mission I set us on.”

The shaman smiles light.  
“Admirable. And as luck has it, we could use you. I’d appreciate if you watch over Kass, if anything were to go off track.”

The mage rolls her eyes.  
“I believe I’m adequately practiced for such matters personally.”

The sailor scratches her neck.  
“Uh, I’m no fighter.” She then pats the side of her belt at a black-metallic armament with red threads. “But…I do carry this goblin-constructed pistol I bought last year.”

That does seemingly settle Khroga.  
“Perfect.”  
Khroga then gestures her fingers at Kass, who sets down the materials necessary for the ritual, and Khroga has fetched a bowl, which she places them in and stirs them together with a spoon. It isn’t a huge ordeal, nor does it have to be needlessly complicated, and after she’s done, she puts the slightly mashed-up things into one and integrates them with the dust. She nods her head at one of the bodies.  
“I don’t know that person’s name, but they’re the one I’ll likely be able to call, with the stuff I’ve gathered.” She gestures at a belt, a piercing and some painted wooden creation.

Fadirwae tilts her head.  
“Is that a toy?”

“I believe so. Could be a child’s, or some favorite remnant from their childhood.”

Kass kneels down and glances about them, trying to meditate on the function of this rite. She’s perpetually intrigued by her lover’s magic, equated with Khroga’s own for Kass’ gifts.  
“So, what will this entail? Will the spirit somehow show up before us? Will they talk?”

“That’s hinging on what state it’s in and how willing they are at convening with me. I’d like to try and bring ‘em up, perhaps even temporarily merge our souls.”

The mage’s eyes widen.  
“Is that-…can you do that? Wouldn’t this be…dangerous?”

“Possibly, but if they’re able and ready, you could be speaking to ‘em as well, which might help, as I don’t know much thalassian. And they’re presumably more at ease chatting with their own kind.”

Kass peers down with a distracted look, cogitating on the accuracy of Khroga’s suggestion and then nods, while scouring the floor.  
“Alright. Should I…sit?”

“Whatever you’re keen on. Doesn’t matter hugely for the spirit itself.”

Kass dips her head, but does as her thoughts bid, crossing her legs on the floor. Behind her, Fadirwae steps nearer to the western wall and draws her pistol, but holds it separated.  
Starting to mumble in orcish, Khroga closes her gaze, and not only does she adopt the physical substances, but tugs at the spiritual energy within her, and the environs. Although she has gotten into this previously, linking with these spirits is a tough one – the pain and heartbreak is severe, and her body twitches when she’s barreled by increased wind and distant bloodcurdling screams.  
On the outside, Fadirwae grows nervous when the light dims in this arena, and the temperature drops, as if sapped straight away from an uncharted axis.

With a faintly taxed intonation, Khroga speaks up.  
“I…I have one”, her pitch mildly breathy too, like she’s held her air, or that someone’s been enervating it.

“Are you alright?”, wonders Kass, her hand clasping her leg a bit overly tight.

Khroga expunges it from her throat and moves past it.  
“Yeah, just…get ready.”

Without warning, her body convulses lightly, her back arching and a foreign, otherworldly vitality filling the room, as well as the orc herself, which gets Kass’ blood to run cold.  
When the shaman at last cools off, and her eyelids unfasten, to the mage’s shock, they burn with a blue glare, beaconing the face to a degree, including her mouth, with the echo of a phantasm.  
“D…darkness…fire…agony…”  
She would case it as a man, which is now interlaced with Khroga’s own, a gelled reverberation. His is slow, dulled.  
“Who…who are-…what’s…happening?”

Quite decidedly, his words are uttered in thalassian, so there is no reticence of where he originates. Kass determines that she ought to step in here, for them all.  
“Hello? My name is Kassari Sil-…uh, Kassari, Arcanist of the Magisters. Who are you?” Outing her name to one of the agonized dead may be…inadvisable.

He shoots his sight to them, suggestive of that he never took them in from the start.  
“My…name?”

“Yes.”

“I…” He puts on the style of face that speaks of an interior cobweb, but then, he arrives at a destination.  
“Vyalon…Vyalon Freedreamer.”

Kass tries to recall the name in her own mental checklist, but alas, there is none by that designation.  
“Were you a Magister?”

“I was-…I never-…yes.  
Wait, no, not…not Magister. But with the Order. I was…I was…” He ‘swallows’, despite that at most, it inflicts this on Khroga’s throat. He stumbles into an epiphany. “Battlemage!”

Not a great disturbance, for it is a fact that the Order has a stark contrast of ranks and roles. But doesn't the Order's battlemage traditionally prioritize...well, battle?  
“The silvery flame on your mark, what are they for? Who did you serve?”

“We…we did uh…”

He ranges off for a moment, losing himself in memories and mourning.  
“Vyalon?”

“Uh, we…we were the First Argentate Flight. The…the secret hand of the Magisters.”

First Argentate Flight? That does ring of a similar tune as the Argent Dawn in Common, besides being more adapted for thalassian.  
“What was your purpose?”

“To…to conduct undisclosed missions compliant with…the upper Magisters’ agendas.”

“I see. And what was it that you were charged with in this particular location?”

At that, Vyalon is flummoxed, not comprehending her motive.  
“H…here?”

“Yes, where we are now? You do remember this residence, do you not? This is where you…uh, were killed?”

Though she absolutely had not sought to induce this sensation in him, Khroga’s gaze with Vyalon in it now expands in horror and bleak pasts which the winds had wrung away.  
“K…killed? But I…I wasn’t-…this is not how it was…meant to…”

Panic gains admission not merely into his eyes, but his voice as well, and in a guttural sense, he screams, bursting a wave of spiritual strength that judders the walls, bumps Kass back and staggers the Captain, who herself gains insight on her spine brittling.  
With a shivering hand, she raises her gun.  
“A…Arcanist! We…we have to do something!”

Kass, who’s lying on her side and shielding her face with her arms, glances at Fadirwae.  
“Wh-what? Captain! Put down that gun!”

“He’s going to paralyze us both if I don’t act!”

“You’ll harm Khroga, you imbecile!”

“If I do nothing, he’ll consume us too!”

“Who of us two has more knowhow of magic?! Lower your gun, Captain!”

Swallowing and dilly-dallying on which program to get with, she grits her teeth and admits to trusting in her.  
“Make him stop then!”

“I was getting to that, thank you!”  
She puts herself aside to him once more and takes account of him.  
“Vyalon, listen to me! You are of the Magisters! You were one of Quel’Thalas’ protectors, its fortifying servants! Remember your oath, your training! A quel’dorei watchman does not forsake his soul and wits that easily! Or have I misjudged you?”

Her citing does touch him, and the shout decreases speedily in volume, until he goes numb and silent, his body shrinking down catatonically, albeit soothed.  
“Quel…Quel’Thalas…” He murmurs. “I…couldn’t…” His words ramble off. “Salath…Nilida…Daren…”

Hmm. Those aren’t expressions, actually, but names. Areas? People? Loved ones, maybe, or his fellow Flight members?  
Kass now deems this her window to continue her inquiry and she gets back up.  
“Vyalon, listen to me. I have to understand what took place in this house. Who did you pull supervision over?”

Gathering what remains of his mental faculties, Vyalon parts Khroga’s mouth nominally, but then tilts the head left and right.  
“I…cannot.”

“What?”

“Sworn…sworn to secrecy. The Flight does not…” He trails off.

Kass kneels down and tips herself into his adjacency.  
“Vyalon! This is dire, a situation fraught with death and bloodshed. You love our homeland, don’t you? Tell me who you were entrusted with, so that I may help them!”

But he recounts nothing except the likewise song, practically a chant.  
“Sworn…to secrecy. For Quel’Thalas. For…for the Magisters. The undead shall not…”

It’s pointless. He’s not going to spill the beans on this individual confidentiality.  
“Very well, then…I won’t ask more of you regarding who it was. But what of your experience in this house? Could you turn back time and give us some insight?”

Vyalon procedurally wheels his unembodied focus to her, and calculatingly, he nods.  
“I can…yes.” He lifts Khroga’s left hand. “This…this body, it lies in its strength to…summon my final memories. If you were to partake of them…”

“Please.”

Gathering his concentration, and taking command of Khroga’s elemental gifts, he drags his hand forward and with the assistance of the wind, brings forth illusions, tricks of the light.  
This is his final concept of the material realm, and with Fadirwae nervously stepping nearer to Kass, they get to witness it in a weird contour-esque vein how the explosion occurred, and shadows jump inside to hurl themselves at the residents. Kass watches every millisecond of it meticulously, not letting a detail escape her discipline, to log it for later.

At one sole moment, Kass glimpses something which abstracts her to the level where she can’t forget it.  
“Excuse me, could you rewind for a second?”

“Pardon?”

“One of the attackers. Could you please illuminate them for me? That one there.”

Vyalon is not wholly defined on this, but he elects to buy her artfulness more than his own.  
“As you wish.”

Reversing it, cycling the full scale of circumstances back to one such pendulum, she rears her hand.  
“There! Could you amplify your memory? Give me a stronger silhouette of that one?”

He does as she elicits, and they spy someone in firm, but obscured clothing, clad for stealth and quickness over open battle. Kass narrows her fissure to this one and kneels down, studying them serenely, the gaze of a hawk. Her fingers soar, and she skims them at this one’s weapon – indubitably from a family of daggers. It’s practically the size of a short sword, mildly curved and thorny in some spots.  
“What is it, Arcanist?”, wonders Fadirwae.

“This weapon…I recognize it.”

The Captain elevates one of her eyebrows.  
“Excuse me? From where?”

“Dalaran City Guard reports, stored in the Violet City library. I believe this is a form of tailor-made enchanted dagger, employed by…some measure of demonic organization.”

This rocks Fadirwae.  
“Demons? You’d foster the idea that…the Burning Legion is behind this?”

Kass sighs and rises to her feet, eyes ever on the blade.  
“I can’t tell. And even if it was, I wouldn’t know what echelon of their endless ranks it would be crafted in.”  
Veering to Khroga’s possessed body, she bows.  
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Vyalon Freedreamer, for your contribution and for your service to the Magisters. You, your team, and your sacrifice shall not be forgotten – I will see to it.”

He breathes out, with the vision now dissolving and warmth defaulting in the premises.  
“Just…make sure it was…not for nothing.”

“I shall. Even though the puzzle is considerably far from laid, I will continue your work. And the annals of our Order will honor you. Go in peace into the next life.”  
She stews on whether to close it here and now, but then a sentence, a prayer from a certain someone months back, injects itself in her.  
“Bask forever in the Eternal Sun.”


	4. Truthshatter

Conspiracies, demonic infiltration, risk of treachery and the looming knowledge of a fresh contamination of her homeland. When Kassari was young, she-…that is, greener than she is today, she dreamt of joining the Magisters. The legends of their magical tricks, their capacities and wide-reaching fame astounded and enthralled her. She wanted to be just like them, to one day possess such abilities that would impress her people, supremely so when her father would relentlessly moan of the limits of what their family was permitted.

When she grew a little older, this doe-eyed fancy developed into a desire not for entertainment, but knowledge and acknowledgment. As a teenager, she had become painfully aware of the Silvershroud’s failings of yore, and though many of her family were resentful and sullen, beholden to their ancestors’ notoriety, Kass viewed this as a challenge. She thirsted to drive the Magisters into accepting her and in turn, the Silvershrouds. Others of her family had been admitted into the Order, but none had risen to the prominence of a _true_ Magister. She would be the first. She would bridge the gap. That was her dream, her integrity, her _identity_.

Reading further into the laws and rules which regulated them, she did come to receive a perception for that the Magisters were beyond sole magical knowhow and delved into politics and power plays. She could learn to perfect that, couldn’t she? Expressly with all her life ahead of her.  
But what none of the informative scrolls or crystals had let her in on is that it could further entail matters of distrusting her superiors, and whether the Magisters ever served Quel’Thalas from the word go, or if it was uniformly a personal scheme. She doesn’t admire the concept of questioning her adored master’s sacrifice and accomplishments now either, but this current thread is making her head spin.

After their little jaunt out at sea, Kass and Khroga went back to the drawing board in Silvermoon, where they’re for the moment located inside the towers of the Magisters. Here, Kass is sitting on a sangria-colored divan, a green waterpipe with a fresh smoldering coal resting on the table which she’s puffing from, and a tome opened on her lap. Piled around the furniture, as well as the table, are two dozen more tomes, scrolls, reports, missives, and other old readouts she could attain from her master’s archive, over and above the general Magister stockpiles. She doesn’t outwardly look like she’s having a whale of a time, her brow perpetually perturbed, and she rubs her chin in that respect which spells concern and mild irritation at her stripped-down knowledge.

A week or two have occurred since their trip to sea and Khroga hasn’t been sitting still in that duration either, for she grabbed the teleporter to the Undercity and made some subtle inquiries of her own with the Forsaken quel’dorei. But now that she’s retreated to Quel’Thalas once again, she wanders inside and joins her beloved, setting down two cups of tea, made of leaves imported from Mulgore.

Khroga kisses the top of the elf’s head and then deposits herself on the right flank of her lover, sliding an arm behind Kass.  
“Any meaningful progress so far?”

The elf tangibly revels in the touch from the shaman, setting her right hand on Khroga’s lap and then discharges a lungful of smoke. She lifts the cup by its arm, sniffs that rather sweet scent of their tea, sips and elevates her shoulders.  
“I’ve been foraging in every shred of fertile scripture that I could get my mitts on, but it’s been…hit and miss.  
The worry and entanglement has been to acquire intel that pertains to anything valuable. I corresponded with one of my colleagues in Dalaran, who in point of fact _did_ divine a figure of books that weren’t too far off. This is how I traced the weapon which your séance conceded to us.”

The orc blinks.  
“Hold up, so you found it?”

“Yes. Or what logically _should_ be it. It is aligned with the Multaregp Clan, an organization of prevailingly eredar assassins, one of the Legion’s finest on that field.”

Khroga frowns.  
“So, it _is_ the Legion we’re shouldered with then?”

“Well, not quite. Make no mistake, they are intersected with the Legion, but rumors which the Kirin Tor uprooted adjudge that they furthermore have…exterior investments. They hold a measure of autonomy, one might comment, and from the elements which I unearthed, this is not without depth.”

“What kinda stakes would that be? Something here on Azeroth?”

“Their tradeoffs have indeed been noted to prolong across the cosmos, towards entities and clients which may be uninvolved with the Legion, or possibly unaware of its existence. And yes, by merit of their sightings within Azeroth’s influential sphere, it would be an operable theory to emphasize that they do on occasion lay trade routes and business endeavors in the vicinity of Azeroth.”

Khroga’s brow crinkles with distaste.  
“The Legion ain’t ones to leave us alone, I guess. Always nosin’ around and subverting our actions. And in this case, shows every sign that they may’ve done something poisonous to your people.”

“Aye, that would be what it portends.”

“Killing all those people in there…and then leaving the illusion intact? They mighta rotten there for an eternity if we hadn’t run by.”

Kass grimaces faintly as well, and she grabs the mouthpiece of the waterpipe, drags it to her lips and inhales, clearing the smoke to stray into her and transfuse her throat. Khroga meanwhile takes a few gulps of tea.  
“I do wonder whether it is a fact that they’ve perished in their entirety.”

The orc comes about and faces her.  
“How so? You didn’t pick out any survivors in that apparition, did you?”

“No, not per se, but we can’t count out the premise that someone might’ve dodged the arrow…or been captured.”

“Do we have any effect to assume that the demons wouldn’t have slaughtered the lot? To the best of my belief, and past, servants of the Legion - or ‘allies’, if that is what they are – don’t often leave it open for mercy to worm its way in. That is, with the exception of torture.”

“I’ll yield that this does hit the Legion’s mark, but Multaregp are not Legion on all accounts. They adopt their separate agendas, and then take slices of the pie which the Legion directors proffer.”

“But there can be no doubt that they’re ruthless, though, right?”

Kass nods, inhaling some more smoke and drinking a further few quaffs of tea.  
“Mm, that is something I will own up to – they’re no less than an utmost murder-prone and keen mercenary operation. A series of brawls and killings were reported by the Dalaran City Guard for years, including the done-and-dusted days of the Third War as well as the city’s hovering might overhead of Northrend, both with prospective chains to the Multaregp. These incidents derive from the Underbelly, a location of sewers and tunnels which guides one across the board in the mages’ city. It is not as if its defenders have been at the mercy of the eredar, for they could best them or chase them off, but the Clan is slippery and how they infiltrated these subterranean chutes at the outset is a paradox.  
But to me, the major dilemma is – why in the Sunwell’s glare would they have so much as an ounce of relations to this particular scene? It can’t have been orchestrated by their own paymasters, so everything points to someone hiring them, but who? Moreover, serving as sellswords and hired spellcrafters, they would have no rationalization for it. Statistically, the Legion is forever ones who appear on the roster for such crooks, but what granted them this insight? Who is this unnamed quarry of theirs? Did the Clan murder them, or was it an abduction such as I suspect?” She sighs frettingly. “I’m losing my head in this galling catastrophe.  
And this isn’t the sole roadblock – what of this…ally of ours? Whoever she is. What is her momentum for acting, as well as notifying us? For whatever reason, I do not host any sensation that she’s tied up with the demons themselves. If it were so, she wouldn’t have had the least bit of ambition for referring us to the attack.

Khroga scowls and ducks her head in slim agreement.  
“Then what is it she’s struggling for then? Are there any odds that this is a sin’dorei, or an ally of your kin?”

Kass shrugs, inhales some smoke and blows it out miserably.  
“None of it makes much sense.”  
Seeing as how Kass is not at her best, and this sorry trial is tormenting her, Khroga sets her hand on the tome nearby and lifts it away, to Kass’ startlement.  
“What’re you doing?”

The shaman reclines into the divan once more, smiles and sets her hand along the Arcanist’s back.  
“You need to take it easy for a second, zak’tro.” Her vaster and stronger hands rub down the elf’s dorsal space, tenderly and treasuringly. “You’re tense and you look more tired every hour I see you spend over those books.”

“But…I have to uncover the answers here. Failing that, I can’t predict what…what will follow.”

“I know, but that doesn’t-…well, the way I see it, you _shouldn’t_ work yourself to injury or death for it. What use will this entire week of toil and near-all-nighters be for ya then, huh? You’ll pass out before you can even nab ‘em.”

Kass is not one to wholeheartedly shrug off and shun the prospect of rest and recuperation, for she does indeed interpret the advantage of them – in point of fact, at one time, Kass has not forgotten that she cautioned her master in an attendant capacity that she best not overwork herself. Anisra assented to such a notion, so wouldn’t it be prudent for Kass to emulate her?  
With an outtake of air, she angles into Khroga and excludes the thought of stretching her arm for the book.  
“Mm, this might be in order, if I am to weather this affair…”

To temperately let her up, Khroga pulls Kass in by sticking a hand on the opposite thigh and then aligns the mage’s face into a suitable inclination, to the point where she can descend and with an equality of mildness and warmth, she brushes their mouths into one another, manipulating her lips in a light that will vanquish a substantive chunk of the aggravation that tears and pinches at Kass. Though a single make-out bout will not be qualified to dispel suchlike nerves of the day that are weighing down at her, it does divide Kass’ attention, and moves her to hit upon the evidence that she is not obliged to be working without end. No one appointed her to this project, did they? She can devote some time to herself and to her girlfriend.

With the pair of them snogging one another for a number of minutes, Kass carries the pipe to a spot on the table, prior to digging herself into Khroga’s lap, where she’s moderately snuggling with her as well in the middle of this show of desire.  
It’s not extraordinary for Kass to be locked in such an ambience of safety and contentment, but with Khroga, the process is amplified to the optimum, and Kass wants more. By the intermission where a breath or two is stipulated, the Arcanist enhances her imagery of desiring physicality by bending her legs and fractionally curving her back, somewhat balling herself up into Khroga’s chest, assembling a pillow out of her, to which the shaman chuckles.

In public, Kass has never tended to be a frightfully intimate person in the vein which trumpets vulnerability. She does revel in kisses and hugs, but not matters kindred to cuddling, and not anywhere near sexual activities – these are points she can’t help but deem to be immensely private and therefore should not be viewed by outsiders.  
That said, in privy settings, Kass does not mind flying her passion and sensuality for her beloved, and she can be both abundantly amorous, as well as carnal, whenever a bargain demands it.

At hand, nonetheless, there is nothing so ardent which would pull either of them, and therefore after a couple of minutes of embracing, Khroga kisses Kass’ head and then murmurs.  
“You feel strained. Would you like a massage?”

With her face all but glittering, Kass nods.  
“Oh, that would be thoroughly gratifying. I haven’t known one of those in…weeks? Months? I went to a masseuse at some point in Dalaran ahead of our ejection, and that was sublime.”

Khroga scratches her own nose tentatively.  
“Well…I’m no artisan, so you’d be on course for disappointment, but…”

Kass sweeps the verges of the shaman’s lips and then plucks her downwards by the chin, to share in a recurrence of some physical interaction.  
“That’s inane, dearest. Of course I would never count on you to be a massaging sage! Your touch and spirit gets me more than my fill of ease.”

“Heh. Now _that_ I’ll manage to offer up.”

Wheeling around, Kass comes to seat herself in the severing of Khroga’s legs, whereas the orc levels her hands finely onto the slim shoulders and upper back of her lover. The Arcanist is attentive of the essence that Khroga is no novice at this routine – she’s granted Kass a large margin of these stripes of bodily alleviations. Not only does she possess adequate control of a regular massage, but she can perform a special one that is elementally infused, admitting that the latter is a trifle stiffer, more suited when Kass is drawn like a tree root, which is wide of the mark at present.

And come the dawn of this process today, Kass’ eyelids languidly seal and unwittingly, her lips enact a schism, out of the sheer bliss of being on the receiving end. Khroga is noticeably bigger than Kass, in some fashion even by her very structure, which includes her hands, but it’s quite irrefutable that the weight of this preeminence is attributed to the orc’s workouts and strength-building.  
But having said that, she is not so dreadfully heavyset that it would be a nonissue for her to break the sin’dorei’s constitution – Kass is daintier, yes, but not frail.

It is thusly that Khroga ups some of the impetus in the massage facility, which Kass can take, bar none. All things considered, she gets a kick out of it. Could even be stated that she is a tad too captivated and immersed in it, for in a few seconds, her mouth segments and a few lightweight moans gush from it.  
Even if a couple of minutes previous wasn’t precisely the most apt climate to gain such thoughts, Khroga’s mind now undertakes more risqué avenues, as Kass’ lustful emissions are wont to kindle the shaman’s heat. Though she continues, she furthermore tilts her head down and necks the elf too, soft contacts near the hair at the nape. It’s then no longer in Kass’ hands to hold control over her senses and she grasps Khroga’s thigh, squeezing it with the hardiness of someone who is partial to ripping her own clothes off in a minute.

But these lust-starved thoughts are retracted the second that Khroga detects something ominous in the air, which awakens warning signs and stress in the depths of her mind. It isn’t merely a sixth sense maneuver either, but rather the elements which alert her, as a wind whispers into her ear, of death and evisceration, of a pointed attack.

Kass reacts to the diminishing of Khroga’s hold, a tad disappointed that her girlfriend wouldn’t press on with the ministrations that she’s been dipping herself into.  
“Khroga?”, she asks softly and glances over her shoulder. “You…you don’t have to stop, dear. That was so enjoyable. I-“

“Hold on”, the orc warns her, and she calms herself, not to listen for noises or the jingle of gear, but what the breeze of the land can narrate to her of the premises of this threat and how to subvert it.

On a moment’s notice, she hurls out a gasp and then bursts herself straight into Kass, throwing them both off the divan and crashing to the floor in a slight pile. She’s a second ahead of a close-to-disaster climax, for right after they fall, two arrows slam into the divan’s back, tipped with a substance that melts the nearby area, which promises to be acid.  
Kass was on the verge to complain, but lying on the floor, she stares in panic at this dread-filled event. Khroga just saved them from utter misfortune and calamity.  
“Wha…what was-…did we-“

But Khroga frowns, and once ensuring that Kass is unscathed, she drives her foot into the floor and hoists herself to her legs, staring out the open window where the arrow came – on the counterpart building, sitting on a ledge right outside a balcony, is a black-clad individual ensconced in the shadows with a cloak, hood up and a sturdy wooden bow in a tight grapple.  
“Shit! They’re still out there!”

“What?!”

“The assassin!” Noticing how the assassin is popping up a third arrow, Khroga erects her left arm and clenches her jaw. “Winds of the seas, heed me!”

She channels her power and the elemental puissance of air which swirls in ever-incessant sluices in her midst, gathering it into her hand. Once the arrow is sent flying, she has a sufficient fill of the elements to put it out of her hand with a blast of gust, and the tip of the projectile is shifted around, impacting a wall far from her.  
But she’s not done – a glint and a spark shift across her frame, over her eyes and then into her hands. Lightning palpitates and hustles, scrambling into her hold. The assassin flinches in identifiable fear, which is not without cause – a shaman can be a fearsome sight in these circumstances, like the center of a storm all on their own.

The moment where Khroga has arrayed a mass of static wind particles to eject it at them, the assassin dances out of it, flexibly somersaulting into the balcony of this tower and the bolt strikes the wall instead, wreaking crisscrossing lines and scars at the wall.  
“Dammit! They evaded it! We gotta get over there!”

Concurrently, Kass is prone on the floor, her body and mental qualities sluggish and throttled by the distress of nearly being murdered in a moment of weakness. Additionally, it occurred in her very home city. Just consider the events that could’ve transpired. In a second, it could’ve been over, if Khroga had not-  
No. Focus, Silvershroud! Don’t enable yourself to be overshrouded by terror and fluctuating sentiment. Anisra would never forgive you.

Scrunching her teeth, Kass puts her head on a swivel and pegs away to settle on her feet once more.  
“They were on the polar opposite tower to the south?”

“Yes, but they’re gonna leg it before we get there! If they could evade the guards to get in here, they can damn well slip out.”

Kass’ eyes then blazes with a rush of fury.  
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She collars her girlfriend’s meaty hand, and with her own second, she commands the power of the arcane to her will, slinging a spell ahead of her. The two of them teleport off, disassembling from the physical realm, only to appear on the balcony a second later. Inside the lanes of the tower which transmits one to this district, they note how the shadow is bolting out of here, now more than a hundred meters away.

“Go!” Kass urges. “After them! I’ll pursue as best as I can!”

And this is all the imploration which Khroga craves. Convoking the forces of the winds yet again, she infuses her own feet with their momentum and then shoots herself forward, faster than a common orc’s legs can. The speed augmentation doesn’t necessarily modulate her pace, but rather the length of each step, as a fused measure of pressure and storm hurls her onwards. It does bear some priming in order to be harnessed, but as she had already invited the squalls into her biology, it’s child’s play to reorient them downwards.

With each treading meter, she’s taken nearer and nearer to her quarry, as they travel with nothing but their own strength and agility, although there is a fault they must rectify with the surroundings instead, for these hallways are not empty, after all. The biggest share of the towers below Magister’s jurisdiction is inhabited by a barrage of individuals – toiling apprentices, Arcanists in the midst of research, conjured guardians, enchanted cleaning appliances, non-magical administrators and servants such as stewards, summoned beasts and living spells that operate at various values.

It’s these elements which Khroga have to run past, as the assassin is deliberately threading through them, making it exceedingly harder for Khroga to keep stride with them. But she does not permit herself to be deterred, shoving people aside, vaulting across brooms and tables, gliding under the guardians who stutter on where to act devoid of commands and so on.

But since she’s so busy running, she hasn’t been fit to devise some manner of defensive – she’s on offense to the fullest here, subsumed in high pace and energy. Therefore, when the assassin jumps and swings around in the air, hoisting their bow with an arrow in one hand, Khroga’s eyes extend overwhelmingly. She doesn’t have a game plan for this, for she hadn’t projected that the assassin would be cunning enough, and most of all, qualified for it.

Zooming ahead, Khroga watches as this person loads a new salvo, aiming and charging an attack that very likely could harm Khroga to the point where she’s out of the game.  
But as time for all intents and purposes have ground down to a halt, midsprint and leap, an utter jaw-dropper slaps Khroga in the face as arcane energy rises in the air and a second shadow materializes out of factual thin air – an additional cloaked character, which renders classification nigh-on impossible, but not their intent. This person, whoever they and their motive are, tackles the assassin midair, pummeling and wrenching them into the floor. In the decline, the assassin’s unmitigated discombobulation pressures them to relinquish their grip on the bow.

Khroga’s surprise is intact for a few seconds, as she was even less prepared for someone to step in and save _her_ now. This proves to be a mild edge for the assassin, for when the two tumble to the ground, the assassin kicks the other off, and as the two rise to their feet, the assassin pulls and rolls out a smoke bomb that stuns the attacker, and then stomps the latter in the gut. The orc’s deliverer lurches and collides with her, knocking Khroga’s own speed down, to where she sinks to the mats below. In the meantime, the assassin accelerates onwards.

The shaman takes herself to her knees and looks at the cloaked helper.  
“Hey, you…you okay?”

This individual does not so much as look at her.  
“We don’t have time”, is spoken with a faintly softer tune.

“We don’t, but-…wait, who are you?”

“Later.”

In the absence of a lengthier response, this supposed lady shifts out of reality, and _floats_ through the wall on the left. Wait, doesn’t Khroga recognize that?  
Argh, no time to deliberate on it. That damn asshole tried to curb her onslaught and she has to rebless her boots with speed. Passing into the next hallway, she looks around and spots an open doorway, leading to a set of stairs – the bastard is essaying to flee to the streets.

Right about here, Kass has constituted her own catch-up of the chase, with multiple consecutive casts of blink spells, loosing her person over and over to the doorstep where the shaman is.  
“Khroga! Are they here?!”

The orc engages her own running speed once more, letting the gales teem her feet to gradually multiply her celerity and bring her forward.  
“They’re heading downwards, probably to the streets!”

“Oh, then wait! Don’t go after them!”

Khroga is taken aback, being appreciably close to fumbling over her own feet.  
“…excuse me?!”

Kass darts the last bit that she can to the shaman, her chest heaving out of a rising burnout. She is not a professional sprinter, nor does she commit to more than plain workouts to stay vaguely fit. Plus, recasting teleportations repeatedly really drains your mana and stamina. But she defies this exhaustion now to some stage, hurrying over to Khroga’s side at the top of the stairs. She bends herself over, hands at her knees, panting with such heft, her hair slightly disheveled, and sweaty to such a degree where Khroga is on her way to reason that Kass will topple over.

But then she straightens her back, and paints an arcane seal in the air, casting an enchantment on her girlfriend. Afterwards, she gestures not at the path, but the hole in the center of the spiral staircase.  
“Jump!”

Khroga stares at the elf, then down at the drop in the midpoint, one that extends probably thirty meters or so; albeit they are at a lower tier, so had they been at the peak, this distance would’ve been a few hundred meters. Regardless, this is sure death or a hazard of dozens of broken bones, one or the other.  
“…are you kidding me?”

“I’ve slowed your fall, dummy! If you wanna catch that bastard, then jump!”

Well, she’s heard of dafter spellcraft than that a mage’s abilities can decelerate the gravitational forces, so…maybe she’ll pull this off.  
“…hope you know what you’re doing.”

Kass practically collapses into a wall, out of exhaustion.  
“…oh please! This is a rudimentary arcane spell that my mother taught me. I could cast it when I was nine! Now _jump_!”

Against her better judgment and taking a deep breath, Khroga grasps the railing, bends her legs, upraises herself and bounces across it, straight down at the middle breach of the staircase.  
And, to her relief and amazement, she does not plummet to the ground at a skyrocketing speed, but instead drifts down as gently and gracefully as the feather of a bird. Well, a tad swifter than that, but it’s the principle.

Sailing down, Khroga can in the procedure note how the assassin is bolting downwards, all but sliding down the top of the railing at breakneck velocity in their desperation to not be taken alive. Khroga is nearly too slow with this featherweight cruising, and to offset some of it, she gathers the lightning into her hands, thrusting it at the assassin.  
Sadly, there are few impacts that get close and this one is clever enough to leverage the stair’s fence as a protective sheen to not be brought low. Dammit, where is the damn city guard when you need ‘em?

When she reaches the bottom, she’s just a couple of seconds ahead of the assassin, who decides to throw caution to the wind and propels into her. With it being distinctively unannounced, Khroga gets thrown to the floor and loses her balance. But she is not long for laying flat, punching the ground, growling and scrambling after them.  
“In the name of the Horde, stop!”  
They don’t answer, and she wouldn’t preordain that they’d be gized to. Had to try, anyway.

However, this time, they shall not be at liberty to maintain that long distance. Khroga’s own internal energy is depleting, but she can make one final push of elemental hastiness and thrusts herself to the fore.  
She would be concerned for the long-term status of this engagement, if not for the fact that such foolhardy hurriedness is not at all warranted – as she whizzes behind the assassin and they get through the first few streets, right into an alleyway, Khroga notes how an arm flies out from the western wall of the house. In fact, it is the same cloaked benefactor that she spotted earlier, blasting herself out and full-on into the assassin.

The would-be killer is pelted into the eastern wall of the alleyway, spins around and is in the neighborhood of losing their footing. Khroga mounts her tempo, hoping to reach them in advance of this lady perpetrating anything asinine, but this is redundant – the anonymous assistant slinks in behind the assassin, inserts her arms at their throat and with arcane-infused strength, pounds the biceps onto it. With the killer’s legs kicking and their arms acutely wishing to throw her off, she chokes the air out of them, until the moment where they pass out, and she releases them, so that the assassin slumps to the floor.

Subsequently, the hooded lady raises her head to face the orc, and Khroga glares at her, transferring the vestiges of the lightning into her hand.  
“Anything stupid in that head of yours, and you’re done for.”

But the lady, who curiously has a faint glow under the hood, lifts a hand in a signal of surrender.  
“Please, shaman, mercy. This is counterproductive for us both.”  
Her sound carries an odd reverberation to it.

“That person just tried to have me and my girlfriend killed!”

“I’m aware of that. But there are questions to be issued. Wouldn’t you agree?”

As a stalemate commences, while this lady is waiting to watch what Khroga intends, Kass comes running with three Silvermoon Guards in tow.  
“Khroga! Are you alright? Did you get them? And-…who in the Sunwell’s glory is this?”

The woman speaks up for herself.  
“Arcanist, I petition you to ask your beloved to cease her hostility. I wish neither you nor her any harm, of this I swear.”

Kass gasps in her jolted state.  
“Wait…that voice. It’s you! From the library, isn’t it? You were the one who…” She glances at the guards she brought, and then resumes. “You set us on this path.”

“Indeed I did. And it is my desire that our cooperation shall extend.”  
They then behold how she lays her hands onto the edges of her hood and pries it off, only to reveal a shimmering countenance which is held and concealed below specifically crafted material not unlike cloth, with no face and no identity other than a bright pink-purple illumination, as if based off the essence of the Twisting Nether itself.  
“I would presume you have questions in abundance, Arcanist.”

There have been oodles of moments this day and up until today where Khroga and Kass have been confounded, and currently, they strike the pair as being endless in their succession.  
“An…an ethereal?”, wonders the sin’dorei.

“My name is Drazmhet. Arcanist Silvershroud, we are on the same side.”


	5. Scrap of Nether

And so, the answers are in a manageable and incremental pace starting to manifest, no matter of that the borders of the conspiratorial box has thus far not been delineated. Even if Kassari would’ve favored a further confidential management of this imbroglio, where there wouldn’t have been a chance for the participation of common guards, she had to if nothing else initially contend with the City Guard’s desire to arrest the would-be murderer and strap him down. But on the plus side, she did disarm their senses enough to deposit the man in the basement of the Ashen Crest Tower and not in the Guard’s designated prison.

And a man she would put him down as, this killer. In a magically sealed off containment room, fastened with steel and arcane cuffs to a stone table, they soon pinpointed his appearance as a fair-skinned human roughly in his 30s, with dark blonde hair and beard, pale blue eyes and a fit, but not strong build. Though he wore leather armor-fortified black clothes, there were no typifying marks on him beyond that. No sigils of allegiance, no papers, no tattoos or any such nonsense. He wore his bow, quiver with arrows, a few hidden daggers, a fairly meager coin purse, and a waist bag with some supplies, food that would last and permit him to sustain himself.

However, he is not the sole figure which has to be investigated, not subsequent to the enmeshment of a particular character who intervened, even though it was to their benefit. Kass has not run into a profusion of ethereals in her lifetime, or whatever it is they name themselves in private, though it would not be accurate to address it as if she’s ignorant of them. Ethereals have interacted with the nations and peoples of Azeroth for longer than their modern engagements, which has extended in the last decade.

That said, she knows scant amounts of info, beyond what her master had debriefed her on. They first appeared a few centuries back, electing to offer trading originally to the quel’dorei, the highest arcane-proficient population on this planet, which embarked with minor exchanges of resources. Anisra had never trusted their kind, and postulated to Kass that she doesn’t either. Not that they are completely bereft of morals, but Anisra had instructed her apprentice in that theirs are often otherworldly in quite a literal sense, running outside the borders of Azeroth, and possibly even the cognition of physical beings.

Outwardly, at a glance, Kass would dare to imply that this Drazmhet is unlike some of her more commercialistic kindred, but how can she be self-secured on this aspect? They’ve had no more than two conversations in total now, and one was with this…lady in the shadows. Can she even term an ethereal rooted in genders which exist in sin’dorei realms? Theirs are fluid at minimum anyhow, but ethereals don’t house tangible forms. And yet, hearkening to the pitch of her voice, Kass can’t help but settle on this conclusion.

Although she is tall – near two meters at least – she’s a slender figure, like every ethereal Kass has ever convened with. But missing carnal musculature does not signify a lack of might, not where the ethereals are concerned, for they draw their powers from external sources, among them the arcane and can be bound for such heights of athleticism that not even ogres in some sense could rival the strongest. Therefore, Kass has reserved judgment for now, in regards to the power of Draz.

What she can positively determine is that Draz consists of the purple-pink light of the Twisting Nether, tied up in a material which bears the shape of white bandages, but is in truth something quite paranormal, as well as black shoulder pads with spiraling silver ornaments, a belt, ‘shoes’ and gauntlets. Kass has been told in yesteryears that this is how the ethereals stay intact within other realms. Draz wields no weapons on her body, but Kass has spotted how she earlier summoned in a dagger made of magic. Plus, she cannot overlook the surety of Draz’s phasing techniques, shifting out of materiality. This is why constraining her was unwarranted – Kass presumes the ethereal would simply slink out of such a galling display.

The three are seated in a tiny room near to the haphazard cell they’ve constructed for the assassin, and they’re in the maneuvering to pump her for answers. Draz is compliantly sat on a bench by a table, on the contrasting one to Kass, arms in her lap, whereas the blood elf sets hers upon the table, with a wad of reports and intel sheets at her flanks. Khroga is simultaneously standing behind the elf’s bench, intermittently pacing.  
“Drazmhet”, utters Kass. “Did I get that pronunciation right?”

“You did.” The sparse echo-y din behind her tone is not so much in connection with death knights, though it’s not immensely apart either. Unsurprisingly, her Common, Orcish and Thalassian are all excellent, with not a trace of an accent.

“Are you a member of the Consortium?”

Kass is cognizant of three ethereal factions – the Consortium, neutral traders and smugglers; the Ethereum, the old rulers of their homeworld who’ve upheld an oath to seek vengeance against the destructor of their planet, although this has encompassed embracing the Void; and the Protectorate, who wants to stop the Ethereum from tarnishing their people with the Void’s taint. It is the Consortium who’ve bargained and entrenched themselves the furthest with the races of Azeroth, besides being the preliminary figures to contact Quel’Thalas such an eternity ago.

“Loosely”, answers Draz softly.

Kass narrows her eyes.  
“So, you’re not with them?”

“We’ve cooperated, but I’m not an official member.”

“Have you done the same with the Ethereum? Or the Protectorate?”

Draz emits a snorting noise, and her body shimmers.  
“You think I’d get mired in their petty war? K’aresh is gone, aeons past. I care not for them, or the repercussions of their bouts. Let them have their clash, and the rest of us can keep living.”

“Then who are you affiliated with?”

“Myself, first and foremost. I’m a…’free agent’, you might say. Although for quite a while, I’ve been patched into your nation.”

“Hmm. I believe we will come to this point, but for now, we take it by my schedule.  
I’m not tremendously dialed into ethereal abilities – is it your affinity for the Twisting Nether that leaves you to walk through walls and such?”

Draz crosses her arms.  
“Yes, it is, but not naturally.”

“Then how come you could phase into the Citadel’s walls and these in our tower, but couldn’t walk via Magister Anisra’s archive?”  
Draz is marginally silent at first, and Kass squints.  
“That’s right. You figured I wouldn’t solve that? Otherwise, you would’ve readily entered it yourself.”

“…I would, yes. I’m not trying to-“ She sighs. “May I explain?”

“That is what we’re demanding, yes.”

“Well, in my society, I am what is commonly referred to as ‘Hajlim vhat Dorosufa’, which can sort of be translated to ‘Nether Tech-Blade’ in Common. I can turn to either arcane spells or techno-sorcery, a variety of magic which my species synthesized in the ancient era pre-homeworld obliteration. We subsist on pure energy of our surroundings, explicitly the ones prevalent in the Twisting Nether. With training, one can learn to manipulate the sheer atoms of such locations, to form weapons, armor, or merely hop through materials.  
However, the arcane is beyond this domain, and functions with separate logics, as well as parameters, and therefore its practically unfeasible for me to shift into them. This included the Magister’s library, with the addition of the island you visited.”

Kass isn’t wholly satisfied with this resolution, but she doesn’t castigate the ethereal for it – this is a response that does embody a reasonable truth.  
“But how did you discover the secrets of the isle and my master’s endeavors in the first place?”

“To be fair, I didn’t have my eyes open at large to this island’s existence, but I did have some hold of it. You see, I’ve been stalking and spying on who I regard as the perpetrators of this crime for some time – or at all events, players which carry every trappings of being inserted in the schemes of this association. I’ve been scouring, stealing and in various arrangements, killing my way to veracity.”

Kass purses her lips at the verging bit.  
“Am I really expected to entrust my ideals with a wanton killer?”

“I protest that”, says Draz. “I would never execute murders at such a scale, and the ones I doomed were themselves not innocent. I wasn’t lying previously, Arcanist – we are allies. Or we can become.”

“I don’t like the odds of that, and admitting that we were, I necessitate explanations, and they’d better be confined in their scope.”

Draz touches what could be labeled her neck and nods.  
“I predict that would be…a fair game. Ask, and I’ll do my darndest.”

“You say you’re invested in this matter, that you wish to shelter Quel’Thalas, but why? You’re not quel or sin’dorei, nor born within the span of Azeroth. Whyever would it be of interest to you to care for this land?”

While Draz does not possess outward elements or facial contours, judging from the manner which her hands fluctuate, her head strays and her fingers wander, Kass can construe that she’s indisposed.  
“I…hmm. The easiest method to express it by is that…I’m a friend of someone who…was settled on the island which you attended.”

“…friend?”

“Aye. We’ve been familiar with one another for…quite a spell. But now I’m fearing that she might’ve been kidnapped.”

She?  
“Who would’ve gone about such an act?”

“You hit the nail on the head – who indeed? It’s beyond me and this is the cause for requiring someone to get a line on those events.”

“What?” Kass frowns faintly. “If you were so obstinate of this, you could’ve _asked_ me.”

“No, the road wasn’t that handy. My suspicions have led me to suspect that someone, or multiple individuals, of Silvermoon’s leading hierarchy may be connected to this…conspiracy.”

“According to what deduction?”

Draz’s shoulders slump with sorrow.  
“Months back, I communicated with a party of sin’dorei, as I had through some measure understood that my friend was in danger. But what was acquired in place of assistance was a blade heading for my throat.  
My one answer to such a dilemma was to seek someone that I would bet wasn’t outright tied to any of the ruling class and had believably some appeal to hunt the truth. I picked you, Arcanist, and your beloved. The reality of that they dispatched a creature of…this variety”, she gestures in the general direction of the assassin’s cell, “affirms my skepticism and dread, plus my faith in you.”

Kass’ hand tightens.  
“You predicted an assassination attempt?”

“Definitely. Given the concern that you were on the verge of hunting down their secrets, I reckoned a reprisal to silence you would transpire, but I couldn’t say what, or when. That’s the merit for my…well, watching of you. Uh, not through and through, mind you – I couldn’t come with on your journey across the seas.”

The Arcanist deliberates on these answers for a few moments, clearing them to churn in her head, which foregoes her response.  
“I’m displeased by this treachery of yours, and I would’ve been more given to listen to your version of this, had you fed it to me.” She then entwines her hands. “…that said, I am far more curious of these goings-on than I am discontent.  
Provided that we might be made allies, I must have the _entire_ truth from you. What is the bigger picture? Who was the person kidnapped from that crafted isle?”

“It isn’t news to me that you were the apprentice of Magister Anisra Sah’nir, who was implicated in the procedure that took place and impacted someone’s life. The life of…my acquaintance.  
I was clued in, but upon the onset of its implementation, I was barred from following. Despite that my friend was insistent I had a place there, it went against them, as they had argued the safety of her was better served if I wasn’t accompanying. Furthermore, I could read between the lines – they couldn’t put much stock in…an ethereal.”

“And the identity?”, wonders Kass impatiently.

“That is-…a woman who is pivotal to the security of Quel’Thalas. Her name is Lyn. Erm, Lynel. Lynel Onyxwing would be the full one.”

Kass blinks in her bafflement, stares at Khroga who shrugs, and then recovers the one at Draz.  
“I’m sorry, who? I’ve never heard a name resembling that in my life.”

Draz shrugs.  
“Doesn’t bowl me over. The Onyxwings and Lyn were placed on the quiet in Quel’Thalas – they were the secret and old-time caretakers of the Sunwell. Their knowledge and versatility with that wellspring outmatches any other high elf. Uh, well, blood elf now, I suppose.”

“…caretakers of the Sunwell? Why have I never caught wind of this, but you have?”

Draz’s head hunches somewhat.  
“Because…Lyn is an old friend of mine. I’ve been affiliated with her for the better part of a century. At that era, she was sent to wield her enchanted gifts to explore realms in between, to the Twisting Nether – that is how we met. I grew to enjoy her company, and since I’m a trained fighter, I decided to attend her. In time, the two of us went from allies to…uh, friends. I matured into her guard, her sworn sword.  
I was well-versed in her recent whereabouts, for we are magically linked – I have shared my essence with her, and therefore could sense where she was exported. Upon the Scourge’s invasion, Lyn and her relatives were given orders to be escorted out of Quel’Thalas. An abundance yet died, but Lyn was one of those to be shielded. I have observed that others were included in these schemes, but no idea where or how or when. Worst of all, the Magisters who orchestrated it are now in the grave.  
Several months past, however, something out of the ordinary was pulled – my correlation with Lyn was blocked. Not cut off or severed, for had Lyn perished, I would’ve had a base instinct trigger. She’d been obscured instead, and someone obstructed our connection, so I was unable to get a feel for where they might’ve taken her. I gave it my best to untwist this mystery by myself, but it was beyond my capabilities. That’s how I ended up looking for someone in the heart of the Magisters who would be up to the task. Ensuing a mountain of supplemental research, I unpacked a reference and numbers to a certain book which were to hold the truth, but I couldn’t get inside. Analyzing who it was that had been the former apprentice of Magister Sah’nir, I wondered if you might be ready to forge an alliance, albeit I bought into the notion that I had to force the issue – impose it on you, and I’d get what I needed.  
And now, we’re here, with an assassin hired by our pursuers. Should you fancy putting me in irons, then so be it. But if you ask me, we would both benefit from a cross-interrogation.”

Kass and Khroga give one another an intent glance then, and the elf gestures for her girlfriend to lean in. For the next minute or so, in silence, they discuss their options and where to go from here. Afterwards, Kass redirects herself towards Draz.  
“I’ll allow you to attend us, miss Drazmhet, in order to gauge your prospects, but this doesn’t indicate that we’ve let you off the hook. Your fate shall not be determined until this catechization has been finalized.”

“Alright. I agree to your terms, Arcanist.”

“ _No_. It was not a negotiation, it was information. I’m _telling_ you.”

“…okay. I understand. I'll...comply”, Draz utters, thinly meeker.

In one outfit, the three then depart from the table, exit out the doorway and towards the temporary cell, which Kass deactivates the shield for. The captured man lying on the table was knocked out, but he has moreover been kept asleep with alchemical sedatives, to certify that he yields no further info than the Arcanist would desire. Waking him is an elementary matter, by administrating an invigorating agent kept in a vial, which she engages by pouring it into his mouth.

The human coughs, prior to unfastening his eyes, his breathing nominally weightier. With his gaze resettling, Kass levels her hands at her hips and glares at him. She’s erected on his right side, Khroga on the left, and Draz somewhere by the doorway, her arms crossed. This human bestows them all with a sourly exterior, but not a panicked one. It’s possible that he’s been conditioned to this reaction at captivity, or this is not his first trip onto one of these boards, or lastly, that he’s simply not the breed of person who painlessly slips into flinching. Kass is not bothered regardless.

“I am Kassari of the Magisters”, she tells him in Common. “But I reckon you’re keenly aware of that by now.” His blue gaze alters to her, but his reply is silence. “We have some inquiries that we would enjoy some elucidation on. You’ll cooperate.”  
The man snorts with something barely akin to amusement and deflects his eyes to the right.  
“We’re not without leniency, you know. If your data is of use, and we deem its contents to have feasible plausibility, it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that you’re released.”  
She can’t attest that this is factual, of course, but it might sway him to some level. However, he doesn’t move in the slightest, and on its face, being rather bored. Kass is not best pleased to be shrugged off in typical conversations, and to so brazenly be handwaved here ticks her off something fierce. She’s tempted to flick him, but what would that serve?  
She starts strolling near the side of the bench, staring down at the floor.  
“You attempted to murder me, an Arcanist of the Magister Order. Such a transgression is dire in and of itself, but the penalty for enacting it against my Order is several echelons beyond. Can you now work out the trouble this will shove you into, by being defiant?”  
Arguably, Kass’ words cannot cover this scenario if she is to succeed in inspiring him to consciousness of his end, or the threat of it. She must rely on other paths. Nonetheless, this doesn’t have to come to violence right from the start and thus she peers at Khroga.  
“Sounds like our friend here is in no mood to speak with me. You mind giving it a try, dearest?”

Khroga dips her head and opens her mouth, but her voice is not ahead of someone else’s jumping the queue.  
“Permit me, Arcanist”, they catch from the wall, and Draz drifts nearer.

At this juncture, not purely Kass and Khroga veer to her, but so does the tight-lipped human, and his eyes narrow. Does he perchance appreciate what debatably will follow? With an uneager graze from him, Draz strolls up to Khroga’s side of the stone plate they’re keeping him on, and she lifts her hand, laying it on top of the human’s forehead. She squeezes it with some impetus, intimidating him to minimize his sight, although not to any beneficial capacity, for he can’t foresee what this entails.

“My people’s bodies are made up of raw energy, as I stated previously. The evaporation of our homeworld, K’aresh, rent our shells and cracked our fleshy coils, creating what you see before you today. Our matter is innately inconsistent, which dictates that we drape our souls in entranced cloth to stay whole, that can often be a burden. But in certain cases, it can in the same vein lend itself to another type of…maneuver.”

She then roams one hand to her wristguard, flicks and detaches it marginally. Some of the energy in her form flutters free, and swirls around above the human, gaining his undivided attention. Then, shortly thereafter, it touches his skin…and seeps right into it. For whatever it’s worth, he is resistant and stout in the intro of this exertion, his actions being down to staring at the ethereal with what can amount to a moderate contempt. Per contra, Draz does not verbalize anything, retaining her seat on the floor and abiding her ploy, whatever it does contain. And to her credit, it does seem to have worth.

Just around the corner, the human betrays an inkling of agony, a fidget or a reflexive shift now and again, and irrespective of that he tries to hold it back, it eats at him. In time, he can no longer revolt, and soon, jerks are compensated for tremors, then shakes and eventually an internal earthquake. Still, not a stir has spewed from Draz. Finally, he cracks, his maw throwing wide and he screams. It’s a haunting experience for Khroga and Kass, as no blood or visible bruises have birthed, and yet resoundingly, she’s taxing him.

“Stop! Stop, please!”, he begs. “I-…” He shutters himself to squeal again. “I-I’ll tell you everything!”

And this is the sum of what Draz asks of him, battening her wristguard, and collapsing her feat, with her energy regressing underneath the bandages.  
“Talk to her”, she says exactingly, and recants her position for Kass.

The assassin is panting feverishly, his hide now noticeably paler and he seems…drained to a degree, eyes bloodshot. Kass and Khroga share a glance towards one another, internally wondering what it is they’ve become incorporated with. Or rather, how far Draz is disposed to go – this Lyn must be…a big deal to her.  
Kass clears her throat.  
“Who are you?”

His throat is initially dry, and he coughs.  
“Malcolm”, he says raspily. “Malcolm Voran. I…I work for House Ravenholdt.”

This looks beyond Kass, including Khroga.  
“House…what? I’m unfamiliar with that name.”

“I’m not”, speaks the ethereal, her arms now mingled once more. “They’re a guild of assassins, thieves and rogues, situated in the lost human kingdom of Alterac.”

Kass grimaces, but there is a hint of flux below. She stares at Malcolm.  
“You were hired to kill me?”

“You…you and the shaman, Khroga Steelfang, yes.”  
The orc’s jaw tightens.

“To silence us?”

“I…don’t know.”

“It would be unwise to lie to me.”

“I…I don’t know! Seriously, not jerking ya around. I-I was paid to eliminate two targets – Arcanist Kassari Silvershroud and shaman Khroga Steelfang.”

“By whom?”

“I’m a front man, the dagger wielder – or bow wielder, as it were – not the negotiator. The boss loaded me with a mission, and I took it. That’s it.”

Kass brushes her chin.  
“Hmm. Why would assassins hire assassins?”

“…what?”

“Forget it.  
What else might you know?”

He shuts his eyes, sighing in a mildly pained respect.  
“C…can’t say there’s anything else.”

Kass narrows her eyes.  
“Nothing, hmm? You wouldn’t have anything of extraneous _value_ , perhaps?” She emphasizes the last, so that he’s vigilant of what the deal is coming to.

His gaze once more shooting open, he looks at her, then glances over at the ethereal in the hind section, pursuing a masking of his spinelessness in this situation.  
“I…do have an additional answer – the location we processed the assignment. Erm…wasn’t present, but my supervisor went to meet me inside Dalaran, and I did sight where he came from.”

“Go on.”

“Someone who operates under the tower of Grand Magus Jillian Ardhouse.”

Now it is Draz’s lap to be nonplussed.  
“Someone in the Kirin Tor?”

“Yes”, Kass assures. “I know of her. She’s in charge of the city’s administration. But for the life of me, I can’t think of a single significance to her working with the ones we seek.”

“…never dealt with her”, Malcolm disabuses them of, “nor can I say for sure were she to be comprised in this…but they are employing her cellar. That’s everything.”

Khroga and Kass stand hushed in the aftermath of this, deliberating on what to commit with this news, as well as what it would entail in a grander prospect.  
In the meantime, Draz ambles to their prisoner, staring dead at him, whereas she props up her hand.  
“With this, he has no further use. By rights, we can be rid of him.”

And so, a dagger materializes in her hand, related to arcane lights emerging from nowhere, coming together to form a real metallic hilt, although the blade shimmers of dark purple might.  
“Hey!”, Khroga calls out in challenge. “You can’t just chop ‘im up. He’s not _your_ captive.” For his part, Malcolm’s eyes expand.

Luckily for him, Kass seizes Draz’s wrist.  
“I’m with you on this, but not necessarily the outcome.”

Draz does not buck against her, howbeit the turn she gives the elf bespeaks of anger.  
“What are you on about?”

Kass then about-faces at the assassin.  
“You, mister Voran. You were seasoned to be made into a skulker of the night, yes? A competent one.”

He swallows.  
“I mean…in a manner of speaking. I did botch this mission, but…”

“Then perhaps you can be operated in the form of a spy too.”

Draz is appalled.  
“…are you saying you mean to employ the one who made an effort to murder you?!”

“According to your own words, it was simply business, was it not? It’d be common sense to apply a rogue of such ability to find out more of our adversaries, in exchange for his life.  
And besides, instituting relations with this…House Ravenholdt stands a chance of being advantageous in the long run.”


	6. Stages of policy

Living at home again, in her own apartment, with its distinct quirks, advantages, accessories, scents and that sensation of waking up in the morning with the sun scantly puncturing a gap between her curtains, a detail which Kassari herself arranged as she appreciates a fondling of its rays that early, is an experience she hadn’t seen in her own near future.

Well, she had, and she hadn’t. Naturally, come the cessation of her tenure in the Kirin Tor’s service as an envoy, she knew that the winds would bear her home to the Land of the Eternal Sun, but she had somehow made a pretty ardent bet that her master would set up a brand-new schedule for her, to throw her off to Orgrimmar for an intermission, or by chance to Thunder Bluff, but such wasn’t the case.  
In lieu of this, she’s been sleeping next to – and with – Khroga in her own decently-sized bed for the last week or two, in some ways to rebound from the difficulties in Northrend, but also the investigation and the near-death maneuver by a discrete assassin. It hasn’t been without its tribulations and long hours of hardship, but at a minimum, it’s adequately ensured.

Perhaps comparatively more peculiar is the actuality of that they have not had a superlative experience, besides this being Kass’ own personal home, for they’ve invited a temporary tenant. Well, not so much invited as self-inflicted a twist of their own arms to legitimize the ethereal Drazmhet’s living arrangements inside, for the moment. It’s not as if Kass never had houseguests formerly, and not uncommon though it may be, this emphasized position cannot very well be spoken of in everyday terms. Not only is Draz mainly here as they’re collaborating to riddle out the complexity which won’t soon be over, but to top it off, they have to uninterruptedly spy for batches of supplementary assassins which might spear themselves at Kass and her beloved, despite that Malcolm had vowed Ravenholdt would not level more than one crack at the whip.  
This is then what Draz has been devoting her hours to, scavenging and sampling their surroundings for malevolent-hearted beings that could target the Arcanist. If anything, it <i>is</i> a mild comfort to have a weird, spooky sentinel safeguarding her most of the day.

Just the same, her requests as to additional answers of this Lynel, her purpose, struggle, family and history have resided uncharted. Draz never flagrantly turns Kass down, but rather stays cagey, diverting. Disregardless, Kass prognosticates that this espousal of mere friendship is not as valid as Draz seeks to feign. The Arcanist has known a modest count of personalities who would so impassionedly share their hearts with friends alone, and to consider ones that would relocate to another world, she’d have no luck.  
Moreover, rummaging and ferreting for clues of these ‘Onyxwings’ in her master’s records hasn’t bestowed her a single return on her time investment. Was the ethereal’s testament then a sham, after all? No, that can’t be. The fervor and conviction she’s held onto does convey that she nonetheless is convinced of her own claims.

Added to this has been the holdup for an apprisal from Malcolm. In spite of the humiliation of losing his deadly errand for House Ravenholdt and being caught by his targets, he did admit that he owed them for not cutting open his guts for the deed of borderline murder, and thus kept his word to tail the Grand Magus in Dalaran, and complement their research…or at least, such had been his report. Excluding a single message a week ago, they’ve extracted not a lick of assistance. Did he forgo his promise in the end? Such was Khroga’s perturbation.

That is until, finally, Kass summons the two women to her living room one day, bidding them to get seated in her rounded sofa with mulberry-colored cushions and white borders, the sun streaming into the several-meters-long and wide room from the windows to the north, hitting the surface of the glass table in the center, the pictures and plants situated adjacent to the walls, and the various enchanted decorative paint embedded in these sides, which shimmer in the colors of the rainbow.  
Kass herself has been absent for the first few minutes, which afforded Khroga and Daz to be settled on the sofa in a more than a little discomfiting silence.

Once she at last walks inside, the Arcanist is clad in a dressed-down moss green collection of robes joined by streaks of ruby red embroidery, hanging and comforting to float forward in, her face uncoated, black hair in a nonchalant bun with a silvery hair stick through it. She holds a notebook and two scrolls in her hands, gazing at Draz who doesn’t really wear Azerothian attires besides a cloak, and her sweet girlfriend in a short-sleeved black-blue shirt which exposes her strong arms, and faintly torn leggings – though the rips are entirely for fashionable aims.

Kass smiles at the two ladies, and one hand meanders to pull at a cord of hair that has broken loose at the side of her face, lifting it behind her ear.  
“Glad that you two are sat so dutifully.”

Khroga snorts with a smirk.  
“Hey, you asked us.”

“…indeed”, comments Draz.

The elf shrugs.  
“Well, it is fortunate that you would fall in line with such haste. Sometimes I find that others, more contrarian types, are slower to yield, delaying just to be independent.”

The regalement on Khroga disperses.  
“…you saying we’re toadies?”

Kass betrays a shallow smirk in turn.  
“I would never assert something so crude, dearest.”

“Sure you wouldn’t…”

Kass pins a hand atop her mouth and giggles.  
“I’m pleased at any rate.” With a swish of her fingers, she commands an armchair to drift in way of the air and be deposited on the opposing brim of the table. She configures herself in it and crosses her legs, laying the materials she brought on top of the counter.  
“I’ve advanced in my exploration of the Grand Magus, which has now recently been appended by the cutthroat we recruited.”

“Wait”, says Draz, “so there were some fruits of his questionable labor despite it all? I had envisioned that he’d play us, but…”

“No, he has provided his helping hand as agreed, to a T. His findings weren’t of supreme profit singlehandedly, but they did rectify some of the question marks or assumptions that I myself couldn’t get a handle on.  
But let’s commence with some of the basics. Grand Magus Jillian Ardhouse – peculiar though it possibly sounds, she is quite a senescent mage, but not as considerable as she’s able to be. She’s human, sourced from the kingdom of Stromgarde and is of some 150 years old.”

Khroga flinches upon this revelation.  
“Whoa! 150?! But…humans don’t get notably older than orcs, do they?”

“Normally, they do not, but magic has the capability to elongate the age of anyone. It has long been speculated that my people’s – and in turn, the kaldorei’s – enhanced lifespan, or rather reduced aging, is an effect of our bond with the arcane. Well, the kaldorei absolutely were immortal for some ten thousand years, but this was a counterfeit immortality, catalyzed by the dragons, who were eternalized by the titans, beings out of time. By now, kaldorei subsistence ought to match ours.  
While humans, or any other race, do not carry an essential aptitude for the arcane, those who hone their mastery can in time obtain a furthered extension of life. This is why the Grand Magus is at such a period, but reportedly has the figure of a 40 or 50-year-old woman.” She scratches her cheek. “Which I…don’t believe is that senior? I forget the workings of human years…”

Khroga smiles.  
“We’re the same, so no, that’s kinda middle-aged. Barring sickness and whatnot.”

Draz contemplatively rubs the bandages near what could be characterized as her chin.  
“I never fully dwelled on the length of entity for your kinds. My own species have in some means…left such things behind. We can perish, absolutely, but I’ve never discovered an ethereal who was laid to rest for premises of age. We are physical organisms no more, and therefore we…transcend natural law. But sin’dorei lifetimes being what they are, I suppose I merely had overlooked the fact that you are disparate.”

“Well, in either case”, Kass continues, “she is rather aged. Uh, for a human. She is technically in greater years than myself, but then again, I’m seen as young as anything in Quel’Thalas.  
In regards to Jillian’s behavior, she is an industrious woman, her administrative work being highly admired in Dalaran, and in many circumstances banked on. She’s quite well-liked. What’s more, she has ties to farther than one human kingdom, as well as ruling sections of the Kirin Tor and there are circulations of that she’s extended arms to Silvermoon as well. It has been stated that at one crossroad, she was nearly a member of the Council of Six, but she declined the opportunity. She supposedly said that she favored her responsibilities at the time.  
What else I’ve discovered is that she was immensely dissatisfied with the Alliance’s desertion of Quel’Thalas at the latter cusp of the Third War, and has spoken widely of how damning my people to break symbiosis with the Alliance was the biggest mistake ever made on their part.”

Khroga taps the top of one of her tusks.  
“Huh. Sounds like she’s a major proponent of your people then.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Were that she had a position of power in the Alliance all those years ago…”

“Are there any blatant indications, or more subtle ones, that she would be working with demons or potentially these House Ravenholdt miscreants?”, wonders Draz.

“Well, no, and this is the dilemma. It’d push the limits of belief that she would be in league with the Legion, to in some fashion harm the integrity of Quel’Thalas, as she’s so in favor of it. If I were to adopt some guesswork, I’d say that the Grand Magus is either kept in the dark, or there is some exterior event assimilating her that she hasn’t predicted.”

The ethereal crosses her arms, coupled with the legs, quietly measuring the settings of this predicament.  
“Whether she is an ally of the elves or a pretender, is probably irrelevant. In my mind, attempting to access the Grand Magus’ headquarters, wherever it is, should be what we go for.”

Khroga nods in a piercing respect.  
“I’m actually in line with ya there.”

“Me too”, Kass avows. “Though I’m not one for criminal acts, if we were to be forced to bend the borders of legality…then it might be a risk that I’m willing to take, to unravel this deceit.”

“I hear ya, but how? A Grand Magus or what have you is a woman with influence in Dalaran, right? Gives me the impression that she’s bound to have a buncha guards and watchers, or other things to call for. Is it doable to try a break-in? Wouldn’t have figured so. You got further details on those specifications, zak’tro?”

“Well, yes, that’s why I dispatched our dear assassin, after all. This is an element of what I would classify as the impasse of this suggested preliminary plan – the Grand Magus has severe magical defenses around her inner quarters, and thus your tech magic would be powerless, Drazmhet. And mirroring much of Dalaran, and Silvermoon insurances beyond that, she enlists a whole heap of physical defenders, in the form of mechanical guardians, traps, spiritual assistance, enchanted nets and whatnot, which would make infiltration a chore, if not outright unscalable.”

Draz tilts her head to the left.  
“Corporal stealth is actually a measure which I’ve developed as well for decades, and it’s one of my strong suits, if I may say so myself.”

Kass leans into her chair and slides her legs together.  
“I don’t wish to diminish your accomplishments or your resourcefulness. However, jumping into this without due readiness would conceivably cost us a great deal. Were you to be spotted, not only would we be in trouble with the Kirin Tor, but it could blow our full operation.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

“Can you swear that to me with 100% security and not an ounce of caveats?”

“Well…”

“Exactly. If we are to investigate this woman, we would have to watch our step at every turn.  
On that note, though, there is a vein in which we could simplify the mission and compress the risk. An exercise in…interior stealth. This would be far more uncomplicated, would it not?”

A faint shimmer comes from Daz, and she strokes her fingers together.  
“Hmm. Well, that would purport that we circumvent its armor, yes? So, definitely ups our chances.”

Khroga is more dubious of this.  
“How would that even succeed? Like, how would we slip in there in the first place? It’s not as if we could bust it open.”

“This has also been brought into account, and I surmise that we might be able to receive an invitation. But it’s not as elementary as claiming that we could organize a party, or anything of that like. Whereas I set our assassin hireling on surveilling the exterior, I pressed on with my inquests of lady Ardhouse’s person, and I did not come upon intel exclusively, but also the odd bit of…gossip. And there are in fact a considerable share for her…urges.”

Khroga gets mentally turned around by this.  
“I don’t quite follow. What ‘urges’?”

Kass clears her throat and abashedly grits her fingers at her own neck.  
“Well, it’s something that I-…just keep an open mind, yes? The tale goes that there’s a passing open secret for how Jillian is…really into elves.”

“…into them?”

The Arcanist can’t resist a trickle of reddened cheeks, partially from shame, but additionally out of annoyance for the moment where she discovered this hearsay, which frankly is derisory.  
“Yes, she…she fancies us. As in…physically.”

Draz swaps the path of how her legs are intermingled.  
“Ah. She’s sexually attracted to elves specifically?”

Kass groans and closes her eyes.  
“…quite. Or that's how it goes by word of mouth. Some humans have outlandishly defined…fetishes of that variety. It’s markedly embarrassing if you ask me, why one wouldn’t merely love a soul for _who_ they are, rather than _what_ , but…that’s humans for you.”

“You sound judgmental saying that.”

“…well…yes! I find it incomprehensible. But I suppose it would be unfair for me to damn all humans for the misbehaviors of some. Melia certainly isn’t that way…”

“Melia?”

“Not now.”

With no finite clarification on this, Draz fiddles with her bracers for a moment.  
“Hmm. Then, if there is an inkling of substance to this claim, it would track why she’s so mad at the Alliance for inadvertently compelling Silvermoon to withdraw from them.”

“Precisely.”

Khroga then stares darkly.  
“By elves, you mean…women?”

Kass looks over at her darling girlfriend, and scruples for a moment.  
“I…mm. It would apparently be so, yes, that she quite adores the more…feminine kind. Albeit I’m told many humans view the predominant number of our people as more ‘effeminate’, hence it’s hard to specify.”

The ethereal puts her hands into one and cants ahead.  
“So, to a point, you could seduce her.”

This doesn’t suit Khroga, who tautens her hand.  
“…I don’t like where this is going. Not liking it one bit.”

Kass looks at her beloved, having long since called that this would be the ineludible countermove. She subsequently sighs.  
“I am not enthralled by it either, but it would be the most efficient plot. Over the course of our date, you two could snatch the chance to explore her quarters and track what we need.”

“So, you’re outright gonna let yourself be flirted with by some grey-haired human power player? Well, super old for a human at any rate.”

“It’s not as bad as all that. It’s not comparable to me sleeping with this lady. My actions will be restricted to issuing you and Drazmhet a window to tiptoe inside and have a peek. The rumor speaks of that Ardhouse isn’t the utmost ‘saintly’ of beings and has on occasion gifted sundry individuals – in no small measure elves – ingress to academy buildings, special apprenticeships or whatever it is that they desire by…sharing a dinner with her, or wooing her in some other alike approach. I am principally aligned with the former.”

“I can glean minor flaws with this design”, utters Draz, “but not something that would jeopardize us to any great extent. Provided this is what you intend, I’m with you.”

Kass smiles and nods delightfully.  
“Thank you for your belief.”  
When she deviates to Khroga, however, there is not even close to a synonymous enthusiasm, as the orc has her arms crossed, brow rigid, face drawn to the left.  
“Khroga dearest?”

“…you know how I feel”, she mutters.

“I realize this, yes, and though there may be adjunct outlines that we can explore, don’t you feel this may be the speediest?”

“So, speed is what we care for? And you’d sell yourself to her just so we can hurry this debacle along, rather than taking a good look and figuring it out step by step?”

Kass is irritated to begin with, that Khroga would so flippantly neglect her concerns, but this soon dwindles, as the elf is conscious of that her girlfriend is just upset that she would try something so…self-demeaning out of necessity.  
To find some manner to settle her, Kass rises, hovers to the orc’s right side and streams into the sofa, laying a hand on Khroga’s closest thigh, nuzzling into her shoulder.  
“My strong, beautiful Khroga, my living light…you have nothing to worry for. This occurs to you, doesn’t it?”

The mage dabs her lips up the orc’s buff arm, along the shoulder and to the collarbone. Even if the shaman is out of sorts with this scenario, her lover’s physicality and trim, tender fingers, married to the graceful and luscious kisses, wears her down, having a way of winning her over.  
Khroga pulls herself in relation to Kass then, setting a hand along the Arcanist’s stomach, and drives a kiss onto her lips. Afterwards, her thumb softly contacts the cheek of her lover, light green gaze conducted to dark brown.

“I just hate that...we’re so low on options that you must debase yourself like this…”

Kass’ lips glimmer and she caresses one of the shaman’s arms, the other warming the belly and abs under Khroga’s shirt.  
“It won’t be quite so bad, darling. It’s not as though I’m hawking myself to her. Tantalizing and charming her is not such a sordid affair.”

“Yeah, but…”

The orc seems to be in the lurch for how to find her words here, eyes milling around downwards. Kass then gets some air for her hand, placing it under Khroga’s chin to lift it.  
“I’m yours, Khroga. You’re aware of this, yes? No one else’s. Forget what she might do, whichever or howsoever she approaches this. This is just for show. But with you…it’s real.”

At that, Khroga strikes her as gaining a tinge of embarrassment, analogous to the orc saying something inept or baseless. Accordingly, she curves her head down, and smoothly lays her forehead onto Kass’.  
“That was never in question.”

“It’s you and me.”

“Always.”


	7. The trials of administration

Nighttime, the city of Dalaran, at present installed above the frozen wasteland of Northrend, magically sealed and heated through spellwork that runs deeply into its stone-built veins, to allocate its denizens an ounce of comfort and mitigation in this otherwise unforgiving and chilling terrain, one that brooks no delicate spirits.

Though the settlement is attached to such an unsafe and high-stakes environment, even in the vacancy of the Frozen Throne, it does attract a substantial number of divergent peoples, deliberately in the culmination of the Scourge’s downfall. It cannot be declared that it enjoys a boisterous atmosphere which can be equated with Stormwind, Silvermoon, Orgrimmar or Ironforge on a free evening, with their open taverns, restaurants and other party-viable places, seeing as they have a range of social classes and cauldrons of backgrounds, Dalaran has bred a nightlife that does offer unique experiences which one can’t pursue anywhere else.

This is why it isn’t rare to spot dwellers with attires and belongings that doesn’t in any way have bearing on the Kirin Tor or the official positions which they distribute. It is then with this excuse that the clothes hanging over Kassari’s body is not superfluously outré, if one chooses not to consider the element of their skimpiness.  
Although the Arcanist is traditionally and predominantly spotted upon the streets of whatever population hub she habituates in either the formality of her Order’s uniforms or simply leisurely-sewn robes or other kits, today’s fashionable nomination can at best be described as…’brave’? Or credibly ‘revealing’, with an emphasis on enticing.

For the last couple of days, the Arcanist has been communicating with Grand Magus Jillian Ardhouse, posting discreet messages and secret deliveries, to showcase her beguilement for the administrative overseer. Having done her homework by discussing and heeding gossip lining the city, she encountered evidence and citations which explained that this is how you initiate the process of offering the ‘bribe’ as it were, or along those lines.

Kass has never actively engaged in these specimen of performances before, although compartments of her Magister training which detailed the political segments did contain references to what working in the highest chain of command would entail, so she has been ripe for its criteria.  
But with an eye on vacant experience, she hasn’t been able to distinguish if the return transmissions from the Grand Magus mark that the older woman is perfectly ignorant of what’s afloat, or if she’s plausibly arranging to lure Kass in and throw her into a cage. It’s in these days that she misses having a master who could’ve dilated her lacking comprehension.

That said, Kass is not blind to attributes and internal qualifications of beauty, and more than that, a certain stage of eroticism. She’s not unadapted to romance, as she has flirted with men and women in the past, but there’s a demarcation between dating and seduction – she’s been seduced, but never the charmer herself.  
Therefore, she’s equipped herself with what she feels is a dress that will evoke a rising pulse in the elder woman, and shoes with heightened heels. Although the rumors of Jillian’s fetishization of sin’dorei may be exaggerated, Kass didn’t strive to gamble and thus she figured wearing a scarlet dress would be what the Magus and most outsiders associate with her people. This one is uncontestably sexier, though, a sleeveless top sitting tightly upon her decently shapely form, a deep v-cut for her chest and a golden necklace with a phoenix logo that dips in between her breasts. The sides of the bottom of the apparel are mildly cut, close to the thigh, to give some space for her to walk, but addedly exposing more skin.  
Having not sought to be too cliché, she adopted a dark purple lipstick, similar eye shadow and rouge. Her eyes are adorned with attached longer eyelashes, her long ears underlined by silvery chains that take advantage of the length, and her far-reaching black hair is, for once, falling down loosely onto her left shoulder.

Nevertheless, she is not alone in being dressed up, as Khroga and Drazmhet have been set up in something relevantly glamorous, yet not of an identical value, for it’s not like either have to magnetize the human. And if Kass were to be crassly honest, she arranged for this in no small part to her own benefit. She so adores watching her better half being dignified and trimmed.  
What she did determine to avoid, though, was to settle no clear kinship with the Horde, despite that it is flatly not a secret that Kass was a Horde envoy to Dalaran. To this end, Khroga has been furnished with a jacket adorned with a couple of chains and metallic complements, a one-shoulder cherry-red cape, a tall-collared white shirt, well-fitting black leather gloves, newly stitched brown cloth trousers and sturdy black leather boots. Her face is mildly painted, one ear pierced, and her tusks embowered with one ring apiece. Additionally, her black hair has been fitted into cornrows.  
Draz in the meantime, not stopped by her protests to it, was donned with juniper green leggings, a checkered orange and brown poncho, short and pointed brown shoes with tight straps, a silvery choker and docked above, a wine-colored fedora.

Regardless of that one of the gists for this was fashion, the two also couldn’t neglect the fact that this would sort them with cavities to obscure their weapons. The tools of war which they’ve armed themselves with includes two axes for Khroga, whereas Draz has no requirements for packing – she can conjure a piece of hardware at any moment.

With the Kass in the center of her bodyguards, which is the role that they’re portraying, she sashays forward, hips swaying, turning her hair’s placement and interiorly steeling herself and her speech. Such an alluring display does naturally accord her glances from bypassing residents, but no one intervenes, likely by cause of her escort, although the elf does not frown at those who rove her. Indeed, it could be a boon, if she were to have need of witnesses. Who’s going to forget a delicious piece like her?

In a second of a breather in this ogling, Draz tilts her head nearer and consults quietly with the mage.  
“Should we strike when the dinner commences, you think?”

Kass offhand revises one of the upper sections of her dress, having it seem pretty intuitive.  
“No, she’ll be far too alert by then. Hold out for when I’ve gotten her besotted, and then make your move.”

“Fair enough.”

Tugging them both by the arm, Kass seeks to inform them of their future status.  
“You should make sure to occupy seats in the background, okay? You’re quite stylish and fetching in these outfits, but in spite of that, I’m not raring to intimidate the good Grand Magus.”

Khroga smiles softly at her lover.  
“Thanks, zak’tro.”

Concurrently, there’s a faint shimmer from the ethereal.  
“…I look fetching in this?”

The sin’dorei’s ears jounces and she nods.  
“Naturally. You’re dressed with quite a bit of panache, my friend.”

Draz glances downward at herself, grasping the poncho and remedying some of the furrows on her trousers.  
“Hmm…”  
Is that a pondering on how Lyn would react? Kass doesn’t ask.

On the way to the quarters of lady Ardhouse, a trio of figures pass them by, wearing simple clothing, but indented with the eye of Dalaran – a female dwarf and a human man, who’re both brown-skinned, over and above a blue-hued female draenei. The entire trio have the earmarks of youngsters to Kass, which drives her to question if they’re apprentices.  
They furthermore size her and the guards up, and though it’s harmless by and large, Kass would sooner that they recall her in the depths of their memories of this night, than her escorts, in case they get into trouble. As such, Kass’ beautified face ranges to the other trio, and she sends a seductive wink at them. The three at large then look somewhat flustered; enchanted, but hot and bothered. Well, that ought to preoccupy their minds.

A few minutes later, at last, they drop anchor at the entrance to the chief administrator’s quarters, a building in between the Alliance section and the Violet Citadel. Her actual office cannot be found in this corner, but her private areas and belongings are meant to be inside, and it’s where they would trace what they hunt.  
Looking at Kass, the orc takes a deep breath.  
“You ready for this?”

“Only too ready”, the Arcanist admits. She rummages into her lover’s gaze, seeing that Khroga is not on her level.  
“And you, dear?”

Khroga stares deeply into the lovable light greens and then grunts, shrugging.  
“I’ll grit my teeth.”

Kass smiles sympathetically.  
“I won’t make you suffer, dearest.”

“It’s not rock bottom, just…the reason behind it.”

“I know and I’m not apathetic to that. How about we share a few mugs of Blackrock when we get home?”

Though the next couple of hours won’t be a field day, she does generate some joy from Khroga.  
“Sounds like a plan.”

Kass smiles at her, squeezes her arm and then gestures at the door.  
“Would you do the honor, dearest?”

“…I would like to bash the door in, but…”

“But you won’t. And besides, we cannot judge her for a crime she hasn’t committed.”

“…wasn’t the Legion thing I was referring to.”

Kass smirks and poses a hand onto her own hip.  
“Nor was I.”

“Tsk.”

Abiding by the role of a dutiful watcher, the shaman treads to the light brown wooden door and uses her fist to rap relatively smoothly onto the surface of it, not applying her strength in a way that would imply rage or distaste. Kass is keyed into the fact that Khroga isn’t genuinely that disfavoring of the Grand Magus, just annoyed at the contents of their jig.

Roughly half a minute elapses in between the knock and a nudge of shuffling on the other side, plus a collection of locks recognizably being undone to allow for the entry. And so, the disclosure arrives and in front of them, the three women behold a human, at least appreciably older than them, if not truly surpassing Draz in years.  
Jillian Ardhouse is not a woman who matches her intense literal age of one and a half century, but is instead one such as the rumors describe her, leaning towards her late 40s or early 50s. And Kass would justifiably rate her as quite comely as well – a mellow light brown skin tone, lengthy grey hair in a low braided ponytail and a fringe brushed to the left side of her face, which itself is soft and rounded, vibrant green eyes, amply full lips painted a faded red, and a narrow pointed nose. Wrinkles brush near her eyes, cheeks, forehead and mouth, which nicely outline her features, reminding the elf of her own master. Upon her average-sized body rests an indigo suit with a tall collar and a white tie on the top half, but the bottom is mantled in a slackened skirt in the same shade, albeit hemmed inside waved lines of glittering sands, which encircle it.  
And the Grand Magus is not bereft of her own safekeeping, as she is backed up by a duo of arcane elementals, one of a host of surveillants which are exerted by mages.

Jillian’s lips form a satisfied smile when she eyes the gorgeous elf, except Kass wouldn’t classify it as lascivious in any way. It’s no less polite, to be precise.  
“Lady Silvershroud?”, she asks in a velvet and mildly cheered voice.

“That is me, yes”, Kass responds, and she spices her own with a tad of sensuality, hoping it tickles the elder mage.

The human takes a step out and extends her hand. Kass reaches out with her own, grasping Jillian’s. Once it occurs, Jillian flips the elf’s slightly, raises it and kisses its back graciously.  
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Kass blinks, and aside from that she had somewhat visualized it, her manners does bring Kass a tad of warmth. But the blush which lands by her cheeks in a second is mostly put on.  
“Why, thank you, lady Ardhouse. And I’m most gratified to be here.”

“Please, you may refer to me as Jillian.”

The sin’dorei giggles preciously.  
“Ah, then I’d feel amiss if you did not call me Kassari.”

All told, Kass can’t set her sensor on whether she’s overlaboring this charming mentality. Disarming one romantically has not been her specialty…uh, ever, if she puts the record straight. But the Grand Magus looks at her with a warm heart in any case.  
“And these two are your escorts?”

“They are. I trust you won’t be concerned that they shall accompany me at least initially?”

“Not at all. I understand that as a member of the Magisters, your welfare is paramount. By all means, all three of you may enter.”  
If she is at an alert status for their appearance, she doesn’t get caught with it.  
As she’s guided to the interior, Kass can admittedly discern that she’s already acquiring some mildly hot gazes from the woman, as Jillian pores over Kass’ elected outfit. Not that there’s any major cause for worry there, as the Arcanist did conclusively put this on in order to be an object of attention for her.  
“In your missives, you hinted at that you aspired to confer on a number of affairs for the Kirin Tor. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be misguided of me to have cooked up something for us to bite into, in the process?”

Kass endeavors to lay on a further elated guise.  
“Oh, absolutely not! I would love to! And something to drink, if you don’t mind.”

“Mm, I do so fancy the white wine from Fairbreeze, which is why I brought one in for this occasion. That poignance of arcane behind its veneer is simply…incandescent. It resonates with you as well, I hope?”

“Oh, emphatically. Fairbreeze is the home of many an excelling mixtures in our lands.”

“Splendid.”

To improve her cordialness even beyond, she produces her arm for the elf, and Kass’ visage glows softly in response, taking it as she’s led to the dining room, where Khroga and Draz wait outside, in company of the arcane guardians. That is, for the time being.  
Inside, Kass also spots a nicely smoked fish with boiled potatoes, beans and spinach, with an underlying light brown sauce. The two of them then spend an hour partaking of this dinner, and dessert afterwards, eating and flirting – with the later being served primarily by Jillian, but that is not to claim that Kass doesn’t send some of what she’s given. Yes, they do have a mission to run, but Kass can’t deny that she’s quite thoroughly digging the notion of receiving and dispensing with romantic toying. This is an opportunity to learn on the job.

The other pair sits and buckles down with this for the next hour or so, and all the while, Kass insists or hints at the convenience in having more glasses of wine. In this procedure, the Arcanist has been preoccupying Jillian’s mind not solely with flirtatious behavior, but inquiries on her own work, and the reach of her power. Not that a bureaucrat would be the frontal prominent player in the magocracy, but the human does gain some enjoyment from flexing her capacity and fluency in the city’s activities, and Kass finds it handy to stroke that ego.

With the two of them buzzed – Jillian slipping past Kass in this department – it shines through that the Grand Magus is ready for the fall. It’s now apt to make her move.  
“I wonder, would there be any cozier spot for us to shift into? As our dinner is spent, I’d greatly fancy a softer seat underneath me.”

Jillian seems quite eager at this call and plots a proposition.  
“Well, are you perchance a fan of the waterpipe?”

“Oh, naturally! I have one in my own apartment back in Silvermoon.”

“How very fortunate! You see, I keep one inside my bedroom. I would be most content to share a few coals with you.”

“Absolutely. I suggest we shuffle over there.”  
Kass smiles and gets up, although she affects a bit of a stumble, alluding to that she’s drunker than she is - plus, curving her figure forward, she exposes more of her chest to the human. She giggles and Jillian herself then struggles to rise.  
“Perhaps we…best move directly?”

“I believe so. Come here, miss Silvershroud.”

Jillian presents her arm, which Kass practically drapes herself over and she steers the elf out of the dining quarters and into her private ones. In this exploit, they bypass Khroga and Draz too. The orc in particular scowls at them, not merely for the sake of the proximity, but more so the arm which Jillian keeps about her girlfriend’s waist, which in a fleeting capacity slides down Kass’ exposed thigh. She also spies how the elder mage’s lips crosses along Kass’ neck.

Just ahead of them leaving, Jillian turns and perceives the two guards, even in her state.  
“Oh, you’re still here? But…”

She seems to have a few words for them on her cards, but Kass isn’t going to let her wander. To rescue the entanglement, the sin’dorei places a finger on the opposing side of Jillian’s chin, rotates her towards the Arcanist and in a soft gesture merged with enchanting vigor, smooches the human. Additionally, she sets a high-heeled shoe on the door and bonks it shut.

Draz notices the heat rising in the orc and the ethereal mounts a hand on her shoulder.  
“Collect your wits, Steelfang. Don’t lose out on what she told you. She’s doing this for us, for the mission.”

Khroga closes her eyes, rigidifying her fist.  
“Yeah, yeah…I remember.”  
The duo then measures that now is the time to get busy and their eyes which have scanned the room extensively up until this moment, now pull towards their clearest targets of distress at this interval – the arcane guards.  
“You think they’ll move against us if we make a break for it?”, wonders Khroga quietly.

“These creatures are generally automated, so yes. In a similar vein, though, if they cannot detect us…they can’t retaliate.”

Khroga arches her eyebrow curiously.  
“You’ve got an idea?”

“Of a sort. I could share one of my spells with you. Assuming you wouldn’t rail against the concept of leaving the fathoming of your own surroundings for a second or two.”

Although she doesn’t bare this sentiment, Khroga doesn’t like the sound of it at all. But she also acknowledges that Draz has more than a little point – what are their options? Fighting notwithstanding.  
“Aren’t these pathways shielded from your…special sorcery nonsense too?”

Draz shakes her head.  
“The Arcanist hit the mark – these interior walls have not been laminated with an equal cloak of arcane buffer. It would presumably hamper the Grand Magus herself if so, and it’s decidedly more important to have one’s house covered from outsiders than to suspect or cripple them once they’ve shot through the door.”

Khroga exhales.  
“…make it quick.”

“Swiftness is not what’ll grant us success in this tight spot, my friend. It’s subtlety and accuracy. Take my hand.”

With the ethereal dealing it to her, Khroga bears the face of one who’s even harder discontent.  
“Why’s it that whenever you magic types ask me to hold your hands, something bad is about to go down?”

In light of the ethereals’ discarded expressive device, it would be easy to presume that they cannot be viewed as smug, and yet that glimmer to Draz’s head at this very second comes off to Khroga as abundantly self-satisfied.  
“You’re desensitizing yourself to our antics.”

“Maybe so…”

Supposedly, in line with the practices of mages, Draz’s rendering of magic is trained to slip one’s energy down a second person too, for when the ethereal grasps her, Draz bends the fingers on her other hand and drags them in a circle, like she’s wringing a wheel and the orc registers a tingle from top to bottom, as if her skin deadens. Whilst the arcane guardians react at a shift in the air, a faint mechanical clatter, it’s too late to annul her when she snatches Khroga with her and they pass into the wall.

Khroga can’t well go into detail for what the sensation of physically sliding right through solid material is like. Or maybe to some extent, for she has on and off communicated with the elements, and they in turn have handed her images and experiences of their own existences. It holds a tinge of similarity to when the winds have shown her what gliding by way of cracks in walls may be like, save for that there is literally no crannies here. She’s defying the laws of physics.

And her travel by out-of-worldly phasing pushes on, for Draz does not take them past simply one wall, but three in total. They bypass a few empty corridors, a study, as well as skidding down a set of stairs.  
“Where’re you bringing us?”, wonders Khroga, once the ethereal has at last released the grip.

“Basement. Activated my occult tracking spell and it’s orienting me to it.”

“You’re sure we’ll pick up what we’re after there?”

“Unless your elemental wind bids us go elsewhere, then yes.”

Khroga’s mouth becomes narrower – Draz has a decent point. The orc hasn’t yet been prepared to altogether trust in this lady’s instincts or talents, despite that ascertaining bewitched cesspits was never what she was good for.  
The basement of the Magus’ tower is visibly shaded, given its missing lit torches and whatnot, which can be remedied, but they do not go down that road, for fear that it might attract undue attention. For the present, if nothing else.

With what diminished night vision she has, Khroga can glom that they’ve marched into a corridor at any rate, with a minimum of four doors, but she nonetheless cannot extend this gaze to the other fringe of the room. She pulls to the ethereal.  
“Is it any of these doors, you reckon?”

Draz keeps her mouth sealed at first glance, and rude that it may seem or no, Khroga wagers that she’s following the beguiled aura that they’re heading for.  
“That’s…no…no it isn’t. She’s got a cryptic one somewhere.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve slain demons in the past and their kind are deceptive to a fault. Facades of this character is one of their foremost credentials – and favorite ploys.”

“But you can dig it up?”

“Hmm. A moment.”

Khroga is here expecting a hive of runes to pop up, in much the same way that Kass goes to work with the power of a mage’s training, but this is the hour where the orc gleans the contrast between normal thaumaturgy and technomancy – Draz hefts her hand, fingers mildly curled, and she centers a dimmed light into her palm, where a force manifests. Though it’s hardly perceptible, Khroga can observe miniature particles that cruise immediately for this radiance, like moths to a flame. She’s flat out absorbing materials from the environment in her midst. Startled by it, Khroga peers at her own arm.

“Worry not, shaman”, Draz mumbles. “This enchantment does not react to flesh. I’m not peeling off your skin, should it dismay you.”

Khroga flinches and scowls. She doesn’t favor looking weak.  
“…I…okay, if you say so.”

With a minute or so whizzing by them, Draz instinctively sets her head in a 45 degree angle to the right, aimed at one portion of the wall that she homes in on.  
“There.”

Khroga chases it, preemptively laying a hand on her axe.  
“That’s our target?”

“Yes. It’s in between the wall and the furthest door that you might glimpse.”

“Show the way.”

Draz nods promptly and then threads onwards, her spell shimmering and dispersing. She doesn’t spawn any weapons, but rather implants her palm onto the spot which she designated. With a wave of matter shooting from it, an illusion breaks like shattering glass, giving away the appearance of another door. But this one separates itself by the light purple sheen.  
“And there we have it – a defensive barrier.” Draz tilts her head to the right. “Hmm. That’s odd.”

“What?”

“I had sort of predicted a demonic defensive measure, but…this isn’t fel energy at all. It’s arcane.”

“Maybe it’s another trick?”

“Could be…” Draz then appraises her situation, and the outlying field of the barrier. “We may be in a slight bind. This palisade isn’t one that’ll shatter with ease and I am fairly confident that I can’t crack it without being noticed.”

Khroga snorts.  
“The time for stealth is over then. And if you’re keen for a bit of a ram to smash that shield, I can oblige.”

Draz’s sight delves to the orc.  
“You’re sure that your…elemental handiwork will collapse it?”

“You’re more into precision, right? Well, what I’ve got on my side is chaos and force. If we combine ‘em, should be a cakewalk. You can wield a sharp spell of some type?”

“For certain.”

“Then I’ll flood the surface of it with a surge of lightning and when it’s stability is wrecked, you shove that blade right on its most susceptible hub. Shouldn’t be more difficult than that.”

Draz deliberates over this proposed plan, glancing in their vicinity for other means of entry, but then nods.  
“Very well, can’t evolve much of a plan myself, so…let’s roll with yours.”

“Good enough. Then step back. And y’know, given that we could get company…keep an eye out.”

“Affirmative.”

And now, the tech-blade herself summons a weapon, a sword, coming into being like a number of materials tempering and collecting into the single form of a hilt, as pieces of a puzzle assembling to a construct they never knew, along with a sibling weapon that’s moderately shorter. Once the hilts, guards and pommels are set up, a duo of arcane energy blades erupt from their tops, sparingly unstable, their consistency seesawing and quivering, at times in a practically flared fashion, like they’re hungering for sport. For a non-demonic font, they’re abnormally bloodthirsty.

But then, Khroga fixates on the door and the barrier, beckoning the winds that stream in from the chinks in the walls to cluster in her grasp, and fashion the seeds of a storm. And so, in roughly ten seconds, glancing across her shoulder, Draz notes how a blue spark transfers into a larger flash and then seconds on, rumbling lightning which swathes the shaman’s arms, and circles her like a deadly and elemental serpent. In tow, Khroga’s eyes blazes open and the storm has spread to them, making her closer and closer to an embodiment of the tempest.

Hauling her arms up, Khroga unleashes a stream of her power straight towards the barrier, barreling it with her full might, giving absolutely no quarter as she’s bulldozing it.  
But the shield continues to hold, barely even flickering. Gritting her teeth, her tusks nudging her lips, she pumps her arms and dunks further juice into her spell. This beating isn’t limited to the shielding either, for the lightning’s range is so wide that the wall begins to show evidence of damage, a burn mark here and there, a slit or two.

In another ten seconds, the fortification does betray a sign of weakness, buckling beneath the stress. Khroga’s lips part and her clenched teeth are unveiled.  
“Now! Cut that thing apart!”

Swirling around, the tech-blade bears her weapon and curves her legs.  
“By your leave.”

She presses her feet into floor and plunges into it. With a forward motion akin to a tossed spear, her two swords, the short and the long, go right in between the cyclone of the sky’s fury. At first, it would appear as if it’s gone awry, for Draz gets nowhere and she makes ready to hop backwards.  
This continues for but five seconds, until the edged tools suitably puncture it, and the screen fragments, severing its unity and blows the path wide open.

The actual door in place does not budge per se, but as Draz tries the handle, it unbars itself without hesitation or delay. The ethereal peers at Khroga to identify if she is braced for entry. In the shaman’s orbit, the winds she’s sanitized die away and though she needs to gather herself for a spell, her adamance is soon recharged and she nods. Draz requites the same deed.

Passing into the interior, they notice that they’ve arrived upon a dark scene, with lightless corridors and rooms, something compensated for by Khroga grabbing a torch and lighting it. These hallways are faintly further cramped, and all-around unadorned by art or other visibly pleasing fragments, but they realize that’s not the intent of these passages anyhow. What is coming quite from left field, though, is the stark inadequacy of Legion corruption. Shouldn’t there be some hint, if the Multaregp are truthfully taking advantage of this house?

In their search for clues of any worth, they tread through the initial comprehensive corridor and arrive in a wider space, where the walls are bordered with drawers, two desks, boxes and file dispensers. This does appear like quite an ordinary room, so it wouldn’t be unevenly farfetched to guess that the Grand Magus herself does operate in this hall.  
Making a superficial sweep, they grab and read documents that they can find on top of piles, or set into more immediate slots. Has to be the latest, right? And as they do, they find maps, scrolls, contraptions of dubious quality and even a few logbooks.

Khroga checks one of the latter, thumbing through the pages, eyes scanning snappily.  
“Hmm. I see mentions of the Alliance here, and some of their bases.”

“The Alliance? That’s a fruitful line of inquiry, I trust. What else?”

“Well…lots of reports. Indications, remarks, a name now and then. But I don’t-…wait.” She crinkles her brow. “SI:7? Did she-“  
And then, unawares and warningless, Khroga and Draz in unison freeze up, as the very air fills with the chill and raw sensation of fel magic, the stench of demonic corruption plunging into Khroga’s nose, her memories of the Third War clouding her thoughts of current life.

Like tears splitting the atmosphere, four portals are thrown wide in the corners of the room, and out from each steps a hooded person in black clothing, their features almost entirely shadowed. Even though these creatures have their clear objective with these attires to hide themselves, the hoods do not categorically make the portions of red skin at their faces remain unseen, nor the fel green glow of their eyes, and hooves at the bottom, much less when Khroga is wielding the torch.

These four egress without a word, including pulling up their swords, axes and daggers. Khroga then relinquishes the torch onto the stone floor.  
“What the…”

“Man’ari eredar”, comments Draz calmly, but with a telling discomfort. “Defend yourself, shaman.”

The ethereal spins her armaments in her hold, whereas Khroga has to shove hers onto the hilts of the axes and unsheathe them. And the demons do not buck the tight-lipped trend they’ve thus commenced, harrying their quarries stripped of any measure of hesitation or explanation.  
The duo is set upon by two attackers each, coming from in front and behind them. The Multaregp are professedly so honed in stealth that their hooves do not chime with their traditional clopping when they charge, and ergo, Khroga is hard-pressed to judge their distance, and where to expect the preliminary strike.

Draz does not suffer the same blowback, her senses groomed to further fields than the visual, and she charges her the tips of her blades with energy and then jumps to spiral in the air, firing two shockwaves that stagger the eredar for a second. Not sufficient to knock them on their backs, but upon landing, Draz gets a golden chance to push the battle onto her terms, and barrels into the northern assassin, who parries her attack.

Khroga steers herself towards the prospect of enhancing her blades with one of her elements, but the assassins far exceed the duration it would constitute to bring that onto her gear, and hence she’s ganged up on by both at a roughly synchronous timetable. She blocks one Legion dagger with the axe and then swats at the sword behind her, ahead of bouncing back from either, as they take a whirl each at plunging their secondary weaponries into her chest, which goes wide.

Coming up next is a succession of slashes and stabs that Khroga has sparing luck to elude, powerless to do anything beyond holding them at bay from ending her life at the very tenuous line of survival. They’re both supernormally fast, and though they don’t appropriate any shots at vital sectors of her form, their tips do infrequently cut into her skin, at her arms, shoulders and sides, and they give no room to gather the elements to her vantage.

Very well, if she is not permitted to harness that which makes her shaman, then she’ll pitch at them the much hastier efficiency which pumps in her very veins, the one that cursed her people decades ago.  
Shouldering one of the assassins back and blocking the second, bringing him really close, for an instant, Khroga bars her eyelids and pulls at a fire that combusts in her chest, one that these eredar’s masters forcefully injected into the orcish genes.

The second where she unclenches them, a red glare meets the eredar’s own degraded green ones and the blood fury in her gut provokes her to roar in parallel to an enraged lioness of the Barrens. Hoisting one of her feet, with skyrocketing strength, she smashes it into his belly, and he careens away, all but mislaying his footing. Khroga does not abide any respite for him either, hounding his body with cuts of her axe and as soon as he parries her once more, she headbutts him and resumes a second round of storming attacks.

On the contrasting end, Draz has found herself in an emergency that previously simulated Khroga’s, but as she does not sit on the rage of her vitals to filter into her bowels, the ethereal instead puts her tech-sorcery into practice. With the demons flanking her, and slicing apart her poncho, aiming for her real energy source, she phases through them, and then plucks atoms off the wall, shaping a genuine armor with it. Within ten seconds, her shape has abruptly altered into a walking humanoid form of rock, with an ethereal’s light in the cracks.

The eredar are not discouraged by this transmogrification, launching into her to lay their blades towards her belly, but no longer can she merely block with the blades, but this crafted makeshift armor too. When these instruments pierce the outer shell, they get stuck in its resilient rocky surface. Furthermore, the absorbed protection is not for a standalone defensive measure, but a heightened offense as well. Raising her leg, she knees one of the eredar in the chest with the magnitude of a boulder being thrusted into him. He groans in agony, losing his breath and tumbles to the floor.  
The second assassin hisses at her in rage, and in pure vengeance sharpens her blade by demonic magic to send a reprisal that ought to decimate the ethereal’s shielding properties. But she underrates Draz’s previously displayed aptitude, and as this lady emanates a battle cry, axe held to split the rocks in twain…they smash the armor, but dash through Draz as if she was pure water. The eredar stumbles forward in her shock, and Draz having disentangled her armor to make this work out, persists with her shifting out mechanism until this lady has passed her, which is when she reinitiates her physiological presence, and with her assailant full well unguarded, the tech sword’s point is jabbed straight into her side. As the man’ari howls in agony, Draz levels her dagger at the foe’s throat, laying her to rest.

With Khroga ending up in a pool of disaster as well, seeing as the killers have now acclimatized to her intensified muscle and found a workaround, the orc can’t go and be worse than her partner in crime. Catching her pests flat-footed, Khroga ducks from their aggresses and rolls to the wall. Leaping up, she draws one of her blades against the stone, chiseling in a horizontal bearing and flooding it with elemental energy.

Around the minute that they reach her in a renewed foray, Khroga slams her foot into the bottom of these halls and the stone which she bit into explodes and pours out, with a pile of rubble appearing. But as if animating on their own, the wasted rocks shift and grind into one another, swelling and growing to a crescendo – and so a few seconds later, a three meter tall earth elemental stands fast, busting its bouldery fists together.  
Along with this transition, as the eredar are sidetracked by staring at the molding earthy being, Khroga manipulates the torch on the floor and the wind to enchant her weapons with spiritual gifts.

As the elemental propels into them without restriction, playing fast and loose with its own sentience, Khroga lies in wait for an auspicious break, where they won’t see her coming. And when one of them is banged aside by a capacious swing of the rock being’s arm, Khroga puts it down as her opening. She lays the flame axe on its side, rams her feet into the floor and skips into the flank of the eredar. Much as the cutthroats scries the ambush and redirects herself at Khroga, it’s too little, too late. The edge of the howling axe finds flesh to chew into and demonic life fluid splashes onto Khroga’s clothes and the floor, which is upgraded by a supervenient blow to her back, downing her.  
With similar ruthless efficiency half a minute later, Khroga finishes off the comrade, albeit she enables her elemental ally to receive the final strike at him, crushing the demon’s skull.

By the dwindling of the fires within her, Khroga’s bloodlust seeps out of her, replaced by the fatigue of withdrawal that is inherent to the orcish fury and to one that has endured such a fracturing of her body. Red fluid stains her shirt from the wounds burdening her underneath, and her chest is boosted by each enfeebled gasp that escapes her. She pulls up a bottle of water and calls on the spirits of it to close her lacerations, and though it disqualifies her from dying squarely this instant, she won’t outlast another showdown.

Peering to her left, thankfully, she can glean how the contest between Draz and her contenders has completed accordingly and the ethereal is only slimly battered.  
“You okay?”, wonders Draz.

“Yeah, I’ll…survive”, Khroga pants out. “You?”

“Fully operational. But we had best not linger. I have serious misgivings for how long this stillness will remain anterior to our dear host catching a glimpse.”

“Mm…right you are. C’mon, let’s hurry it up and grab anything we can recognize as being good for something, and find a back route outta here.”

A cursory shakedown doesn’t yield a bounty of evidence for anything, but they scoop up whatever looks to have been recently employed by anyone, which are lain at the top of differing tables and desks. And just prior to fleeing, Khroga perceives one juicy detail that gets her thinking where their next step might be – there’s a portal network that is jacked plump into this very office. Barring of course that it does not in fact link to any Burning Legion camp, but Alliance territory.


	8. In directed streams

Heist of the century…is likely _not_ what the population of Dalaran will deem the break-in which resulted inside of Grand Magus Jillian Ardhouse’s basement. Exceptionally so in light of that she herself had kept the existence of the little hive which the three hunted down in the highest level of clandestine status. Whether she even raises the subject at all with her superiors in the Kirin Tor is a question mark, principally on the back of the contents. Might be that the purple robes wouldn’t be too happy with the knowledge of a spy operation conducted in their city on behalf of another nation.

And Kassari thanks the grace of the Eternal Sun and the Sunwell for bringing them back to Silvermoon, which is where they’re situated at this instant, having escaped the city alongside each other. The circumstances for Kass had all things considered been the hairiest, determined by the fact that she was locked in a set of quarters with the host herself, an eventuality which the Arcanist had personally shaped, in defiance of that she hadn’t downright estimated what the outcome would be, nor that she would have to labor in order to abstract the lady from noticing the full events of the trespassing.

It was a pretty streamlined undertaking to draw her away from Khroga and Drazmhet’s demeanors once they began, by kissing and caressing her, but as alarms were put in motion, Kass was afraid there’d be a demand to go the whole way. Blessed as she was, in Jillian’s drunken stupor, the human went off unaided upon at last witnessing that something had gone amiss. And there, Kass had risen to her feet and bolted out onto the streets. Later, she met up with her friends in an alley, and they teleported into Horde territory, before evacuating via the official Horde portal network to Silvermoon.

Kass was well aware that on the second she got to her home city, she would be immersed in safety, or something thereabouts. Whilst Jillian might’ve been able to win over the Dalaran City Guard to restrain her comrades regardless of the scenario and without publishing the details of the duo’s misdemeanors, the Silvermoon City Guard would be equally biased in Kass’ favor. Therefore, shadowing themselves in the mask of Quel’Thalas’ domain seemed preferable, even if she realized that there would be some probing.  
In retrospect, this arguably will incite the Grand Magus to suspect her and call for both their and her arrest, but to be utterly fair, Kass no longer gives a damn. They’ve acquired their proof, and now, the mission can be carried forward. What’s an angry clerk, when the survival of her home is at stake?

After their homecoming, they took a day’s break to settle down and wash off some of the mental stains of their encounter. Not any repugnance per se, for Kass had been charmed by the elder mage too – ipso facto, provided that she hadn’t had Khroga as a partner, she would’ve gladly attempted a temporary fling with this lady. More so, this delay was a way to leverage their positions and receive news of the ongoings surrounding the event and if the Kirin Tor had put the word out for their pursuit. But no, nothing so far.

The next few days then contained some study, to scroll down the logs and files which the duo had swiped from desks and boxes. Some of it wasn’t wholly interpretable, for they were isolated records or parchments which required a larger context to be parsed, but the journals and record books had by all odds the weight of helpful intel.  
And it then follows today that they gather up in the living room of Kass’ apartment, with Kass in her informal robes, Khroga wearing a sleeveless shirt and baggy sweatpants, and lastly Draz carrying nothing but a cloak, now that the poncho was royally shredded. She wasn't overjoyed by that, having fancied the new attachment.

As opposed to the former assembly they conducted on this direct subject, Kass is not inclined to keep to a separate chair, however, and in place of this gulf amidst them, the blood elf sits herself head-on into Khroga’s lap. It’s no surprise that she’s appreciative of Khroga’s displeasure with how they fared with Jillian, and it’s then that Kass has prioritized spending as much time in her girlfriend’s vicinity as feasible in the last few days, to offset it. The elf gets comfortable in the thicker legs of her lover, swathes her arms around the orc’s neck and sticks her lips onto Khroga’s in a most heartfelt manner, one hand on the cornrows at the top, the other rubbing along the jawline. Meanwhile, Khroga rests her left down the Arcanist’s behind, whereas the right is tenderly upon Kass’ back.  
The kiss they dole out for each other is not one of extreme lust and eagerness, but the evidence of adoration and care is not gnarly to follow and to find enjoyment in.

As it closes out, Kass swerves, inclines into Khroga’s chest, arches her own legs imminently to her own body and relaxes, gaining the orc’s arms revolving her waist. Awaiting their conclusion to this snuggle, Draz has stayed engaged in reading one of the scrolls and some papers that she was committed to solving at any rate. The Arcanist’s lips crook somewhat in reaction to this, and yet being quite obliged that Draz is so easy-minded to spare some privacy for them as and when it strikes her as applicable.

“Sorry”, the sin’dorei apologizes briefly. “We better break into this business of our findings now. So, what is it that you have been scouring through for the past few days?”

Unclogging her throat, or at the very least making the noise of such an exertion, Draz stations the scroll against her legs.  
“I have been studying the extracts we’ve taken possession of that cover the Multaregp clan’s actions. According to the texts I trawled and the reports which were penned by the Grand Magus, the position of that she may indeed not be mired in the interaction with the demons could be real. Her scribbles make no mention of eredar or demons or the Legion, or even codewords to them that I’m literate in.  
It’s still in question whether she ever saw or sensed them, but I can see zero signifiers that somehow reveal it. With this in mind, I’m willing to conclude that there’s a chance the demons collaborated with whomever else was patched into the work that was performed inside the cellar, completely unbeknownst to Ardhouse. She’s not a casualty in this, but nor is she undisputedly guilty either.”

Khroga crosses her fingers by her girlfriend’s belly.  
“You’ve got a point, but that doesn’t deter from the veracity that she’s a spy. I’ve been going through the documents we stole on SI:7 and she’s in there.”

Kass nods serenely.  
“Could you supply us with the run-down on them?”

“Sure, from what I’ve peeled away in this stuff, anyhow. Although saying that, I caught that organization’s name in earlier Horde fieldwork too.  
Basically, the SI:7 is a Stormwind-located undercover enterprise, the humans’ and the Alliance’s number one intelligence agency. They perform tasks like espionage, tactical acquisitions, general secret and coded measures, and…yeah, you guessed it - assassinations.”

The Arcanist snorts at that, entwining her arms.  
“And the Alliance frowns on the endeavors of the Horde? Perhaps they should consider cleaning up in their own backyard.”

Khroga is amused, but doesn’t comment.  
“Even if they’ve mainly been appropriating Jillain’s tower as a Dalaran-sourced bolthole, and the portal wiring that she assisted them in composing, she’s still buried in their operations. From what I’ve studied in our filched stock, you might be surprised to hear that Ardhouse was born in Stormwind. Uh, the kingdom.”

Kass hoists her eyebrow.  
“Timeout. So she _is_ a Stormwind girl?”

“Uh-huh. She arose from a humble family out in a region known as ‘Westfall’ more than a century ago.”

“Yes, I know the place. It’s a grand farmland, south of the city.”

“Ah, right. Well, she apparently exhibited a gift for magery at a young age, and was picked up by a handler from the Stormwind Mage Guild, who were the ones that instructed her, let her improve her aptitude.”

Hearing this, Kass scratches her nose.  
“Hmm. She never struck me as a SI:7 undercover agent…”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. No, she’s not _with_ the SI:7. In the little we gathered on her, Ardhouse was sown into Dalaran by the Mage Guild a few decades ago. Sort of like…an example of rivalry with the Kirin Tor, I suppose?”

Kass then sighs and crosses her arms.  
“Ah, of course – competitive espionage. I’ve seen it before. Some of the Magister Order’s apprentices were worked to the same degree…”

“Mm. In time, the SI:7 corresponded with her and coaxed her into being an exterior asset. Then again, they never put absolute faith in her for that matter, which is presumably the core of her lacking familiarity with the demons. And likewise, no matter whether they did business with her for years, even _prior_ to the first Dalaran’s annihilation, little to none of what they’ve wedged in her hands jeopardizes Stormwind itself. It was foremost a partnership for the portal grid and its usage. I’m mixed on whether she’s twigged it, but they’re essentially abusing her skills.  
At any rate, this Multaregp clan wasn’t made known in any of her writings to the SI:7, so by all accounts, she’s clueless.”

“This would fit what I have been giving my undivided attention – the locations and hideaways that were posited in these scripts. There was some deciphering to hammer away at, but this overarchingly boiled down to checking coordinates, juxtaposing maps and unriddling various human cultural imagery. And it is fairly striking to me that Lynel was carried into one of them. I haven’t pinpointed a sole target or so at this moment, but it’s only a matter of time.  
The current leading liable station by my approximations is a safe house that the SI:7 built in the marshlands of the Wetlands, north of Ironforge. It’s a wasteland for all intents and purposes, largely uninhabited and unguarded. Passes for a flawless seat to withhold someone as imperative as this Onyxwing, and no quel or sin’dorei would suspect it. The Wetlands isn’t exactly a hospitable region, nor is it a low-effort trek through its soggy and beast-infested pools. It’s foreseeable why the dwarves have never completely framed an inhabitation process.  
However, it’s not the geographical hotspot which plagues my thoughts for the triumph of a potential mission. It’s the assets which we have at our disposal, and can field at any given session. Or…lack thereof.  
Assuming there’s any opportunity to strike, by no stretch can we lock this down when we’re pressed for numbers. We’re simply too few. Three people unbinding one woman from what, two dozen extensively trained operatives? More? This action prescribes time – time to research, time to get the lay of the land, time to requisition equipment and time to gather allies. We have to herd a team of disciplined, skilled and competent fighters for the rescue. But who would we even conscript? Who’d be prone to give their lives for this cause?”

Khroga and Draz then bank backwards, the ethereal linking her arms and the shaman nuzzling into her lover’s hair, the two with a cogitative veil to their eyes.  
“Hmm”, utters Khroga. “Respecting the Alliance enough to cooperate in this climate sounds like a lousy idea, whatever the case may be, if that wasn’t blatant as it is.”

“I second that”, comes from Kass.

“Be that as it may”, says Draz, “I must remind you that crediting the Horde in its totality is a recipe for disaster besides. I’m just recounting it now, but I _was_ menaced earlier by representatives of the Silvermoon government, ones who would kill for Lynel to never be found. This’ll all undoubtedly fail, should these people’s separate agenda go through.”

“Well, what would be beneficial is to question and align with people who’re quick to work for the good of Quel’Thalas then, and not for their own personal rationality. They aren’t barred from having a personal axis in this as such, nor is selflessness something to rely on, but at least good motives, I’d infer.”

Khroga opens her mouth once more.  
“Then I propose that we get in touch with your sister and her friends. They’ve shown at every turn to be eager to display their worth and attend us.”

Here, Kass shakes her head apace, not analyzing it for a second.  
“No, I won’t take a chance with Rivaryn’s life. Yes, she would, without question, but this isn’t her fight. She has a future with Thariss to think of.”

The shaman nudges her nose at the rear of Kass’ neck, but exercises caution not to bump one of her tusks into the same fleshy hull, for she has no desire to hurt her lover.  
“And Trienza? She’s an old war-wolf, an accomplished warrior and what not. Or uh…lynx, I guess.”

“No, that’s a waste of effort – Trienza does not foster Quel’Thalas as her responsibility in this day and age.”

“But wasn’t Anisra her mom?”

“Yes, but that life she harbored has rotted away. She’s a neutral player now, and the ‘squabbles amid the Alliance and Horde’ as she brands it, is tiresome to her - namely so long as it carries the hazard of stoking harm onto the Ebon Blade. As of her reawakening, they are her family, not Quel’Thalas or the Farstriders.  
The facts we’re working with is that Lynel is a person linked to the coherence of the Sunwell, and her knowledge and facility holds the probability of endangering it, vigorously so while the Alliance feels that it’s for the taking. In like manner, whoever is accountable for this duplicity, they connived with a woman who gushes for Silvermoon, the quel and sin’dorei, and surely would treasure the notion of having us rejoin the Alliance in whatever way possible. If we are to stage a rescue mission of Lynel and prevent them profiting of her wisdom – presuming that they haven’t done as such heretofore – the circumstances call for that we seek allies with a strict affinity to the Horde. If we can opt for someone who isn’t actually tied into Silvermoon, that would be a plus.  
I don’t buy that there’s a fertile count of stalwart people in the Sunreavers to pick out who socializes with who here, since they operate in such short proximity from the Kirin Tor and Alliance personnel, rivals or no. At the same time, I sincerely doubt that a single Forsaken would ply themselves into such a field, as they and particularly their leader the Banshee Queen detest the Alliance, which is just as well, in light of that the champions of the blues set death marks upon the undead for years.”

Draz tilts her head to the side.  
“I see. I haven’t rightly been in touch with a good number of Forsaken even up until today. Do you have any recommendations?”

“Yes – my sister, Rivaryn, is a former Farstrider and she has an old friend, ex-Farstrider at that, by the name of Niyena Meadowmist. She’s an archer in the Dark Rangers, former quel’dorei rangers who dedicate themselves to none but the Banshee Queen. They don’t even participate in the Forsaken military. I’m wholly convinced that she’d gladly agree to this, to keep Silvermoon joint with the Horde, plus possibly get some Dark Rangers involved.”

“Well, if it’s outside-of-eastern continent people we’re looking for”, starts Khroga, “a ton of shamans within Orgrimmar are entirely devoted to the Horde. They aren’t in and of themselves super friendly to the sin’dorei, which the old rivalries and feuds can be blamed for, but my Order more than most realize that Quel’Thalas now fly Horde banners and they won’t forsake your community. I can track some who can be counted on to fulfill what’s necessary for the Horde’s survival, including a couple of loyal warriors.”

It’s then that Draz gets an idea.  
“There are more out-branching elements which we would manage to hire for the right price, that aren’t necessarily in the pockets of either side.”

Kass cuts to her.  
“Is there anyone specific you have your eye on?”

“Yes – House Ravenholdt.”  
The Arcanist’s brow goes stern.  
“Hold it. Before you go off on a pessimistic rant, which I wouldn’t in point of fact dissent to, Ravenholdt is at its heart a company of mercenaries. They can be bought. Pay them or extort them – whichever will get traction.”

“Hmm.” Kass rubs the bridge of her nose. “I…am potentially in a position to funnel a sizable funding from my superior for…work-related activities. If so, would you be qualified to insert it into their hands? As an inducement, naturally.”

The ethereal turns her head with a touch of amusement.  
“You can bank on it.”

The sin’dorei smiles.  
“We may have our players then. Although…” She fondles her own lower lip, her sight dazed and delves into something long and hard. “I reason that there is one more…entrancing, albeit unprecedented notion that I could explore. Which I believe I will.  
You contact the shamans, Khroga, while you settle Ravenholdt, Drazmhet. As for me, except the Dark Rangers, I will hazard a fourth path of inquiry. Commander Trienza might be reticent to chip in…but her aide could debatably be courted, with the right presentation.”


	9. Five star point

Distant squawking of what could very well be cursed ravens. Shriveled green-grey leaves upon taxed and lanky trees which can sparsely stand, with roots that have been sapped of all energy and vim. An aberrational smog which has ascended from the decayed earth that all but blackens the sky and obscures the earth from being hallowed with its nourishing rays. Buildings and settlements in disrepair with the culprit being neglect following the demise of its inhabitants years back. Infected waters, chills in the air whizzes across the land either from the lack of heat or the spirits which are said to still be walking the surface, unable to move on.  
  
There’s a reason that the sin’dorei have given this fetid zone the specification ‘the Ghostlands’ after all, the grand southern region of Quel’Thalas – the past bounteous and rich farmlands, and now nothing but a memento of the worst phase in their existence. Why they renamed their people, why they struck their Alliance membership, why profoundly trusting anyone but themselves is detrimental.  
  
As a choice had to be made in regards to a suitable spot for a secure congregation between multiple factions of altering motives and tendencies, and idealistically come to a partnered solution, Kassari had a sense that they wouldn’t get the luxury of setting it within the walls of Silvermoon. Yes, their capital city is elsewise a guarded venue, which Kass gains a measure of stability from, but in this case, enemies to a conclusive ambition yet prowl in unheard corners, looking set to tear it asunder whenever a foolish ticket is bestowed. But nobody would in an outwardly fashion voluntarily make the trip to the Ghostlands to supervise a get-together of this importance, for fear of the hazards it presents. Or that’s what Kass is trying to assert.  
  
The Arcanist stands in seclusion of the northeastern sector of the Ghostlands, wrapped in a dark brown cloak, a couple of kilometers east of the main road that snakes down the center, but another few kilometers west of an old dead township, Suncrown Village.  
In olden days, this was a place where some of the northern farmers gathered, one of the final stops before upper Eversong, but also a hub for Magister apprentices to renovate their practices with elemental knowledge.  
  
She had heard that travelling humans thought the quel’dorei enslaved water spirits therein, which was wholeheartedly unbelievable to her – no apprentices subjugated anything in this peaceful boondocks, as much as _crafted_ them. The nearness to the waters and the virtual vacuum of people permitted the young mages to cultivate the ability of how to put together such elementals from scratch.  
Mage elementals differ from shamanistic elementals in that they are nothing more than soulless constructs, not true models of living materials. As such, the elementals they brought to life inside this settlement did not possess actual life. Then again, their previous allies to the south have ever been keen to think more nefarious images of the elves.  
  
Kass can rake over the ashes of her stays within this town decades preceding this age, although it wasn’t to her pleasure. As a teenager, she had quit her family’s remote exile expressly to revel in the big city, the éclat of Silvermoon, and hence being thrust into this yokel of a town was such a grave disappointment.  
Furthermore, she has continually held a low opinion of the wilderness and farmsteads on top of everything. Who would tread in muck and mire when the finely white stone-paved walkways, august towers and full-to-the-brim establishments of Silvermoon abides? Well, that’s what she _used to_ argue, at least. Nowadays, her judgment feels…disconnected.

Nevertheless, the Ghostlands rattle her, a husk of a wood that drives her to shiver inside. The Magister Order and the Farstriders in conjunction have yet to track a format to cure the land of its ailment, and who can say how long that’ll last? The day that her sister had retraced her wanderings to the capital and passed Kass a rundown of her voyage throughout the execrated south, Kass was awestruck and appalled in equal measure. How did Rivaryn make it by fleeing and dwelling herein for a couple of years after the invasion? The hunter had never explained herself and Kass had…well, overextended her enmity of the hunter instantly hearing of their parents’ expiration.  
But in any event, the Ghostlands remain a further becoming site for the convention that straddles the lines of deviating parties, in order to convince at least two of the arrivals. If it doesn’t hack it, well…Kass will see here and now if she miscalculated.  
  
Her trance and retreading is broken once she catches a sound that reverberates along the wrecks of trees and decomposed grass, one that is extremely unseasoned in this grove – howling wolves. Coming in from the north, from the road that crosses to Silvermoon, is a dozen men and women, green skins and primarily black-haired heads, but with a hint of brown and grey at that. Kass’ lips rises mildly as she makes eye contact with the massive dire wolves of Orgrimmar, presumed to have migrated to Azeroth from Draenor, at the side of their orcish masters and companions.  
  
At the head of the procession, she spots an older man, moss green skin, one large tusk and one half broken, including the black dreadlocks upon his head with grey streams, some that droop down his shoulders. At his left rides a woman which Kass is firmly acquainted with and who carries a substantial portion of her heart – her darling Khroga. The two of them are clad in cloth coats and pants, fur shoulders and horn additives, reinforced by chainmail armor, and in the thick of them, red icons of the Horde.  
  
As they near her, they twist at the reins to their wolves, ceasing ten meters from Kass’ position, with the head man eyeing her warily and then glancing at Khroga, who nods staunchly. Then, he jumps off, pulling out a strip of meat for his wolf to chew on, prior to trudging towards the sin’dorei. At his back are two more in chainmail, and eight or so heavily geared warriors.  
To portray the proper manners of an organizer, Kass bows her head cordially.  
“Hail, riders of Durotar, and welcome”, she says in orcish. “I am Kassari Silvershroud, Arcanist of the Magisters. My apologies for the inhospitable environment, but it was more sensical for our purposes.”  
  
The middle-aged man snorts, and steps to roughly five meters away, Khroga by his flank. This is by request from Kass, who asked that she be separated from her two friends. She wishes to prove brave, as a symbol of that she endorses her stance.  
“Farseer Cralush of the Warsong clan. Don’t worry ‘bout us, mage”, his voice gruff but tranquil. “We live and thrive in Durotar, the severest of lands this world has to offer. This is a paradise by comparison, most would assess”, he jokes. The other orcs laugh, and even Kass smiles.  
“Khroga here has been decent enough to fill us in on a rough estimate of who you are, what’s been transpiring for ya and what it is we’re investing in, which is the essence of me hitting this place at all and entertaining the thought of allying. It pertains to some…official of Quel’Thalas or its government, I take it?”  
  
Kass corrects the collar of her cloak.  
“Yes, the…previous administration, it’s imaginable to frame it. At this occasion, though, the woman we’re chasing is hardly even known to most of sin’dorei civilization, despite the centrality that she plays to its condition. But it’s in the name of skepticism of our leaders that I summoned this odd spectrum of outfits to the Ghostlands, for I deduce that someone in central command wouldn’t be too festive if she were to be returned to us.”  
  
Cralush weaves his arms, his brow bewrinkled.  
“Is this some kinda overthrow of your nation then? From the enemy’s part.”  
  
“Well, yes and no. It’s not a sovereign we’re trailing, but someone who inevasibly could yet overturn the politics of Quel’Thalas, in the wrong hands.”  
  
Cralush draws in a mighty breath, and stares down at the ground.  
“I’ll be damned…smells to me like it’s a puzzle of fiascos we’re in for. But I’ll hold my issues and questions ‘til everyone’s checked in.”  
  
“That would be best. I’ll place a greater detailing of our fix at your disposal by then.”  
  
They converse regarding less pivotal subjects for roughly ten minutes or so, previous to a clangor which comes rolling and roiling to the south – it sounds eerily like a few horses and carriages. Two, to be precise, and the ones drawing them are king-sized, bulky beasts, with tall legs, thick manes and tails, legs hairy and stout, built to drag solid loads.  
The orcs frown at these transportations and the wolves growl cautiously, but the horses are not deterred. The coachmen at the front of the black vehicles bang upon the front of their wagons and within seconds, armed humanoid men and women march out, ten in total, plus the drivers.  
  
Being assisted out last is a diligently well-clothed woman, showing medium brown skin beneath a dark orange doublet, tight grey breaches, lengthy black boots, a half cape which only stretches to her elbows, and lastly a short-brimmed violet hat. As opposed to her entourage, this woman is allegedly not strapped with weapons of any sort, except grasping a cane in her right hand. But who can say what eludes the sight of warriors and mages unaccustomed to the haziness?  
  
Kass is almost on the verge of asking a question, when she hastily spots another cloaked person disembarking – the friendly and faceless reflection of Drazmhet.  
Encroaching on them now, the mage can conclusively discern that not every entity at the woman’s side are humans – half of them may be, but there’s again a kaldorei, a quel’dorei, a goblin, and a forsaken. The woman at the fore is the most noteworthy, though, and they sail forward with a mysterious ease of awareness, like they can practically behold the bile from the orcs.  
  
“Delegates of House Ravenholdt, I presume?”, utters Kass.  
  
The woman tips her hat marginally up with a finger under the brim, piercing the ground with her cane in front of her, executed with fabulous elegance.  
“The very same. My name is Vialenne Shoarlight, here to represent my organization”, she states in clear Common, her voice cramped with self-assurance and the resoluteness of authority.  
  
Kass bows her head faintly in a gesture of greeting.  
“Kassari Silvershroud of the Magisters.”  
  
“Aye, I’m quite aware of your identity, miss. Our man here has been detailed in his reports.”  
  
She emphasizes someone who Kass and her comrades are woefully astute of now – Malcolm, wearing a coat which furnishes him with a hood, though he lowers it to expose his face. He tips his head forward.  
“Arcanist.”  
  
“Ahh, mister Voran”, the elf answers. “How gracious of you to join us in today’s illuminating discussion.”  
  
“It was uh…mainly a command.”  
  
Vialenne nods.  
“I surmised that on account of your previous experience with one another, this encounter might serve us as a token of our presence and budding future joint endeavors. And freeing us of vitriol.”  
  
This woman is not simply rather well-spoken, but the quality of her words, the straight slope of her back, the arched position of her chin and nose. Kass wonders internally if Vialenne at some stage was a noblewoman. Or maybe she’s just formidable at charades. Isn’t that a characteristic of spies?  
Regardless of the variables, one thing that either side can note and which they grasp at with vehement suspense is the glacial mood between the two, the innate one of humans and orcs, without regard to the ancillary members and races which stand amongst them. Years ago, Kass would’ve caught their drift, but now that they’ve spent a few years with the Horde, she responds to the other races in this collective as one would to external family. If this gets down to violence, then she may have no alternative but to…  
  
Startlingly, it’s not Kass who takes the first move to assuage it, but Cralush, who unstraps his jaw.  
“You’re from Alterac, right? That’s what my agent worded to me. I am Farseer Cralush of the Warsong clan. I’ve been skirmishing under the banner of our people since we first broke into this world and it isn’t lost on me that the old Horde was partially at fault for your kingdom’s demise. I hope there’s no bad blood that’ll come to the fore today for the sake of that.”  
  
Howbeit she stalls with her feedback, accommodating her kinsmen to clench their fists and glare at him, no sooner than a few seconds, Vialenne secretes a thin laughter.  
“There’s no resentment on that regard, in my mind. The Horde did not flatten Alterac, Farseer – Alterac tore itself to pieces. Our King doomed us by making base deals behind his allies’ back, and his House was no better. House Ravenholdt has no ties to the old Perenolde royalty – not to mention, we are no rightful noble house.”  
  
“Uh, what’s with the ‘House’ moniker, then?”, wonders Khroga.  
  
“Ah, it has simply served us for the duration of our existence. An alteraci…custom, you might call it. Our one concrete devotion is to business and the value of good coin. Borders and flags and cultural antagonism, we leave to you and the Alliance."  
  
A lavish tally of minutes float by then, as Kass aids and abets the Ravenholdts and the orcs to lessen some of the hypothetical strife that lingers, to prime them for the real debate in a little while.  
But this uneasiness does hit a bit of a rough patch upon engaging the upcoming party that strolls inside the limits of the ‘camp’ with these three factions – it’s an extra dozen figures of robust and loaded warriors, and arrestingly, their forms too are of a multitude of green tints and casts, with affixed tusks and spired ears, but in lieu of being based out of Legion spoilage, these profiles were born with this skin, as they hail from an adjacent land. It may well be more appropriate and factual to say that the plots they’re all stuck on at this precise time were theirs to begin with.  
  
The hulking trolls who trample into the low-key glade are familiar not solely to Kass, but to Cralush himself – two decades past, in his youthfuller years, he stood side by side with the Amani. But now, tapping into their moss-outfitted hides, armored in metal and leather, with skull and thorn fittings, he isn’t walking so tall.  
The Amani squadron is accompanied by their own mounts, tame and domesticated warbears, as ferocious and fortitudinous as any of the direwolves and unmistakably able to give them a good match. The man they’re spearheaded by is elevated, but his back mildly bent and his body thinner, although he makes up for it with a dour facial look, and dark blue eyes that flame with cunning and suspicion. His skin is a lighter green, his far-reaching braided hair plum purple, and the outreached tusks ivory. His outfit is a combination of leather and cloth, and Kass can spot a bow and quiver at his aft.  
  
The Amani riders don’t shoot for any curtaining of their advance, journeying smack-dab in the midst of a path from the east, from Zul’Aman. They’re fearless, prideful, largely unconcerned, virtually like they own the place. And Kass can’t condemn them for it, for in the dawn of this land’s age, they did. Do they too mourn the Scourge’s depravity?  
Kass droops her head for a third occasion.  
“Well met, warriors and hunters of Amani”, she switches back to Orcish. “I’m glad you could pull in here at such a high pace. The terms of our present challenge made a virtue of speedy necessity.”  
The prime Amani comes off his mount ten meters room apart of the orcs and Kass, albeit his gaze is hitched onto the elf; intense, but cogent. Is he awaiting her or what?  
“I am Kassari Silvershroud of the Magis-“  
  
“I know”, he claims with that Amani rhythm, arms hanging at his side. “Vela’zakh, Shadow Hunter. Lah’kur spoke of you.”  
  
Some days prior, at the same days that Khroga and Draz engaged in their own bargainings with the intermixed companies that they chose to sway into partaking of this council, Kass divided her objective. On the one hand, she gave herself to the Dark Rangers, relaying her plot and where she hoped to steer it, to the end of urging a patriotic heart inside the ex-quel’dorei.  
Auspiciously, she snatched a victory with them, and disregarding that they haven’t hitherto been distinguished in this area, she could commit the residue of her time towards transporting herself into the Eastern Plaguelands around the south of her homeland, and get a message to Lah’kur, one of Trienza’s closest troops. In spite of the fact that the Amani death knight had at first been averse to the outline of Kass’ motion, when it clicked with her what the Arcanist could and _would_ dare to go at later on, she no longer hemmed and hawed. This Vela’zakh must’ve been the closest companion which the knight had to contact, one she would trust to provide with an opportunity.  
  
The pack of Amani at Vela’s tail are of an amplitude of occupations, from hunters and warriors, to berserkers and loa priests. Regardless of that Kass has seldom opposed this tribe hands-on, she has studied their ranks and specialties in her Magister education, as one part of the curriculum. Much as their arch focal point of sin’dorei tuition is driven towards magical bridling, they also have a mission to be literate in a surge of other subjects – politics, geography, history, economics, rudimentary military strategy and so on. And letting their neighbors’ identity escape them would be akin to putting their own feet in their mouths.  
  
“Ideally, it was nothing but beneficial tidings, yes?”, she tells Vela.  
  
He huffs.  
“It sufficed to make me curious. Lah’kur has from the off been a quirky woman and warrior, raising the stakes and hunting prey that few others would be suitably brash for. When she volunteered at the request of our superiors to slay your people in the days of your own demise to the undead, I knew she’d never find her way back to us. Not as she had been, anyhow. And my assumption held good. She perished to the ceaseless ghosts of the past. I mourned her, and that was that.  
Days ago, seeing her risen once more, as a shell of what she’d been, disgraced at the hands of the Scourge and their sadistic necromancers, it left me as black as Akil’zon’s thunder and my heart was set on vengeance upon the undead and to ditch this replica, this false afterimage who would call herself Lah’kur. But nonetheless…she is my sister in bloodshed. She speaks and shouts and wars like Lah’kur. I cannot dispute her wishes and appeals. She entreated me to come here, to bear the words of an _elf_ just this once. _That_ is the moral of our approach. Don’t urge me to lament listening to her.”  
  
His intonation is fervent, not to mention profound. Not stopped by that he produces a semblance of short-term peace for the elf, by extension he not-so-discreetly warns her that a false action may ignite an even hotter inferno of war and suffering.  
“Thank you, Shadow Hunter. I would never yearn to sneer at miss Lah’kur, for the high opinion I hold of her. Touch wood, once any and all players of this summit have landed, I will assure you that this isn’t simply air.”  
  
“That remains to be seen, ‘Arcanist’. You can be damn sure I won’t stay to hear your begging if I am not satisfied.”  
  
Vialenne then curtly breaks their nervy talk.  
“Now, I wouldn’t desire to…dampen the mood as it were, nor to set fear into anyone’s gut, but from our entrance into the Ghostlands and forward, I’ve detected the palpable perception that we were observed. And this performance, you see, it has not ceased even now.”  
  
Upon catching this, Kass stares at her aghast.  
“Excu-…hang on, are you…are you saying we’re being watched _at this very moment_?”  
  
“That’s correct. And if my prognosis is accurate, which it has a way of being, they’ve corralled us, completely and utterly.”  
  
The anxiety of minding this sets off all hands and they get underway to bear weapons and scan their terrain for viable targets or enemies which may have snuck in to cow them.  
Shortly thereafter, the racket of movement, climbing and plunging is discovered.  
“Of all people, I suppose it was half-witted of us to conceive of a gang of ruthless and conniving assassins to not intuit our spying”, they hear a voice spouting.  
  
Who and what emerges out of bushes, treetops, branches and rocks is a gallery of women – elven women, two dozen, adorned in black and dark grey vestments, with a bow per head and pair of hands. Shockingly – or not far from scheduled, if one really considers it – the sum total of them are directed and locked on the trolls.  
Vela grits his teeth.  
“What is the meaning of this?!”  
  
Kass, however, looks with flabbergastment at the speaker.  
“Niyena! I…I thought I notified you that this would be a _bloodless_ appointment, not an acceleration of violence!”  
  
Niyena stares at Vela, thirty meters removed of the shadow hunter, her bow channeled towards his head. Not a fair length to duck, if she loosens the arrow. Even so, she’s unnaturally…composed, not betraying an ounce of vitriol.  
“You did, Arcanist”, she states smoothly as you like. “But I thought better of it. Brought some…insurance.”  
The trolls bare their teeth and fangs, gradually retracting, but not extravagantly far. After all, where would they go? The elves could wash them away in a flash. Just the same, Vela is not afraid.  
“These woods were _ours_ in the past, for thousands of years. And we’re better versed in them than any person in this world. Better than the _savages_ who exploited the Scourge’s pillaging to exterminate us.”  
  
His eyes make room for a rigorous spirit, like he’s suited to fight and die for his cause.  
“Areas you _stole_ from the true owners. Come try it, little elf. We fear no rotten beasts, least of all you.”  
The immortal grudge splitting their peoples. It’s…a dire thing to behold.  
  
But next up to floor the assembly itself is Kass – arcane sparks in her hands with immense haste and she extends her sides – on the spur of the moment, a dome of a shield, an arcane barrier springs out of her and encases herself, half the trolls, half the orcs and half of Ravenholdt – the leaders of every alliance first and foremost, protected by the sin’dorei’s aura.  
“Lower your weapons, rangers!”, she shouts.  
  
But Niyena’s eyes narrow.  
“Out of our way, mage. You’re not in charge of us. We adhere to-“  
  
“I said lower your weapons, rangers!”, Kass’ anger echoes in thalassian. “I couldn’t give less of a _damn_ if you submit to the Banshee Queen or not. This is _Quel’Thalas_ , not the Undercity or Orgrimmar or anywhere else! Here, you go by _our_ rules. I am an Arcanist, a member of this nation’s leading body, and by all rights, you tarry here by my good graces. But this can also be withdrawn, whenever I so wish. Is that _understood_?!”  
  
The Dark Rangers stare now at the mage, notwithstanding that their sights do not alter from their preys, determined to off them providing that they retain leeway, which they now do not. By and by, the figure they abide for is Niyena, their ad interim commander, to conduct them in some direction, be it war or concession.  
In the fullness of time, the cloaked elf sinks her bow to a more amenable footing and dips her head in admission to the rangers to emulate her. In a few seconds, every weapon is holstered.  
  
This prevails on the Arcanist, who had sustained her technique to this minute, her assertiveness energizing her to not let go. But come the last slotting of a bow on their backs, she nods with contentedness and drops the shield.  
“See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it? I summoned you here for us to confederate with one another to a grander goal, not for redundant and contemptible butchery. And this goes for every single one of you – if you cannot keep your passions in check, or your anger subsided, I will pluck the felon who committed the misdemeanor, and I will chuck them across the Twisting Nether to the middle of the Great Sea. Is this a point which we can all come to terms with that we comprehend?”  
Kass speaks in a manner of a teacher reprimanding her students and she won’t lie – she is channeling a mild case of her old master’s spirit to accomplish this.  
With no rebelling from Niyena this time, Kass is fulfilled.  
“Very good, very good indeed. Now then, Niyena, take your place, so that we can commence this exchange I mustered you all for.”  
  
The dark ranger reluctantly keeps to Kass’ control and steps forth to seize her stance among the five other leaders. Moderately lifting her head, they glimpse the light grey-tinged exterior laden with scars of yesteryear that covers her neck too, the strands of light brown dangling upon the side, the glimmering scarlet eyesight, the burnt-off left eyebrow and stitches at her jaw. She’s not merely a woman who has stomached war, but death’s ravenous throat.  
  
From Kass and to the left, it is thus now circle-wise – Niyena, Vialenne, Cralush and lastly Vela’zakh, with Kass in the midland of the undead quel’dorei and the Amani troll. The two whose impulses would be most expected to flare. Everywhere else, the dozen or so they’ve brought from their respective camps are stationed at the rearguard of their leaders, clustering into a single cylinder.  
Cralush, who is astoundingly the most unfazed, motions at Kass.  
“Well then, Arcanist. You manufactured this conflux of forces and customs. Seems only a good fit that you tell us why this was.”  
  
Kass puts her hands by her hips and nods.  
“Yes, thank you. My name is Kassari Silvershroud as I’ve thus far told you, and I represent the Magister Order – one of our ruling departments – as an Arcanist. My superior is Magister Canilae Saratheol of the Ashen Crest Tower, but she shall not be attending this convention.  
I thank each and every one of you for heeding to my summons and for coming here today. My hope and goal is that in communion, we shall do and achieve something which the Horde not often does, and few have even so much as endeavored. But of course, I won’t lie to you – this does have bearing on my homeland, but with its culmination, it could potentially be evidence of future feats.”  
She then steers towards the dark ranger, intending to diplomatically greet everyone in turn.  
“Dark Ranger Niyena Meadowmist, it is good to see you back in Quel’Thalas. My sister often sings your praises.”  
  
Although Niyena is a stern face, upon hearing the mention of Rivaryn, she mellows out a tad. Kass can see a hint of a fight to smother a smile.  
“Mm. I…it’s been pleasant to exchange letters with her. We’ve only sent two so far, but…she’s an invigorating tie to my old home, despite that she doesn’t reside in it anymore.”  
  
Kass smiles.  
“She feels the same, she’s told me.”  
  
“Hadn’t previsioned that I’d be hearing from you, though, and some manner of…threat?”  
  
“Indeed, albeit we’ll reach that point, in time. Oh, and when we’re done, I’ll secure some days for you and yours to wander Silvermoon. I know some of our people tut-tut over your appearances in these times, but we haven’t forgotten what you’ve sacrificed, and I’ve reserved a few locations for you to enjoy the splendors of it later, in privacy.”  
  
Niyena snorts.  
“Of course you have.”  
Somewhat sarcastic tone, but she doesn’t foil the mage. Naturally, she do longs for home.  
  
Kass advances to the next person.  
“Lady Vialenne Shoarlight of House Ravenholdt. I’m afraid my erudition of your family and ‘House’ is distinctly lacking, to my shame. I am clued-in on the baseline intel of Alterac and your nation’s untimely fate, which was a pity, to be sure.”  
  
Vialenne mildly shifts the seat of her hat, flourishes a gregarious smile and levels her hands on the apex of her cane.  
“Oh, I contest this conclusion, Arcanist, for I believe its undoing was noticeably timely. People did meet their doom in those dark days, and the land was desolated, but its national eradication was the onus of our regent and nobility, whose wishes to capitalize upon the Alliance’s momentary losses instigated the catastrophe we now know. But the civilians evacuated, the soil healed and Azeroth is better for their folly being wiped out of our collective memories. House Ravenholdt considers itself independent and not with any form of obligation to the wraiths of a broken sigil. Nor do we have banners of the lion off our roof. Granting that you’re fitted with a worthwhile proposition for us to regard, we may well feed into your operation.”  
  
The mage curves her neck.  
“I thank you for your contribution to this parley, my lady.” She then moves on to the third person who’s been roped in. “Farseer Cralush of the Warsong clan, I welcome you too. I trust that the travels to this region wasn’t inordinately intolerable?”  
  
“Hmm. No, I wouldn’t pick that word, and similar to what I touched upon earlier, we’ve had tougher.” After this, his attention cruises elsewhere, letting it slide and flick athwart the scenery, with the face of someone who is quite absorbed in faraway matters. “Can’t claim to be extremely fond of this southern domain of your country, however. I can continue to recall my own…visit here once, exceeding two decades now, during the year that the old Horde and our botched trespassing. Never showed up this far in personally, but my old images of this forest includes more…greenery and lushness. Fruit trees and ranches and wilderness. Today, sole thing I can detect is…agony. The pain of a burdened soul. The spirits of earth and air, they don’t bellow, they just…moan. It’s like they’ve barely any energy to express their torment.”  
  
Kass’ shoulders sag and she stares down at the loam, and the dark rangers partially mimic her.  
“Yes, we…we’re familiar with that. Our people battled the Scourge within this realm…and we were beaten, to the core.” Once ten seconds have passed, she elevates her face once more. “One day, we may-…no, we _will_ rebuild. But everything this far down, I don’t imagine it shall be lost to our people’s spirit evermore. We are blood elves now, for the fallen…and for the future that _boils_ inside us.”  
  
The dark rangers can be viewed as appreciating her words, Khroga looks proud and Cralush bonks his chest with a shut fist.  
“For the Horde. For _all_ the Horde.”  
The orcs behind him simulate this behavior.  
  
And so finally, she proceeds to the last of her invitees, bowing her head amiably at the Amani to her right.  
“Shadow Hunter Vela’zakh, I offer our hospitality to you likewise – not that I foster that it’s wholly required. Your people have had a sense of these woods for longer than ours. But irrespective of our grudges ahead of this day, I’m content that you elected to join us.”  
  
Vela has listened patiently, but his glare is fastened to her face. His and the other Amani are conclusively the tallest at hand.  
“We didn’t make the journey for you, but Lah’kur. She was our sister-in-arms and even if she was refused us as a consequence of the undead plague, my confidence is yet in her. But I care _nothing_ for you or your blood. Your forefathers robbed us of our home, and your archers, mages and warriors have habitually slain Amani in every generation. To me, it might as well have been your bows that killed her.”  
  
Notwithstanding his fury is rugged to oppose, and his argument is deserved, Kass is not one to back off in this regard. Her response is cutting, her voice intense.  
“You’re wrong. It was the _Scourge_ who murdered your bloodbound sister, as they did thousands upon thousands of our kind. Our ancestors did seize this territory from yours, and we have waged war since what looks for all the world like infinity, but _both_ of us have been hurt. We have lost an overpowering count of citizens, of souls that did not earn this fate. We’ve watched elderly, children, the new blood and the experienced, have gotten their names inscribed on the stones of graves and entombed in the muck. But I feel, I _believe_ that this can be turned over. Here, today, we can take the very first step to…mend a portion of our old hatreds. To lay down our swords and rewrite the borders. To grant us the opportunity to share this plane, as opposed to bleeding over it. Isn’t that to be favored?”  
  
Her earnest and exquisite declamation doesn’t wholeheartedly swing his judgment, but his outward opinion of her does purportedly improve. His voice is now lowered, tempered.  
“I promise nothing, besides what I admitted to Lah’kur, to listen.”  
  
“That is not insignificant.”  
Thereafter, she swishes her hand in front of her and calls up a magical illusion, which showcases a map over the Eastern Kingdoms, or the known blueprint of it.  
“You’ve each received select elements of the mission which I’m lodging, but here comes the enumerated sketch of it – the Alliance is threatening the integrity of the Horde and its seat on the Eastern Kingdoms by way of its correlation with Quel’Thalas. Multiple months ago, a subsection of the SI:7 - Stormwind agents - kidnapped a woman who was a member of a secretive circle of protectors and caretakers of the Sunwell, which presently deceased presences of the Magisters had enterprised to shield.”  
  
Niyena crosscuts her arms and lifts her eyebrow skeptically.  
“What? Secret caretakers of the Sunwell? This is news to me.”  
  
“Yes, so it was, in addition to myself. Still and all, I had an informant to certify that it is validated”, she says, except she doesn’t formulate the name, that it was Draz. “It would appear that the Magisters had swept this under the rug from the lynx’s share of the quel’dorei populace, beyond the Farstriders, the church, even the royal house and Magisters below the loftiest ranks.  
The SI:7 spirited her out to a location in the south, going by the compellation ‘the Wetlands’, in a safehouse which is patrolled physically and sheltered magically, but it is furthermore well out of access from most open spots, so it’s justifiably uncharted for the wider Alliance at that. According to the reconnaissance that we’ve been served, it’s a low building somewhere to the central-west, sandwich down a road amid a lake and a large empty marshland with plentiful natural watery snares and lurking beasts. The goal for any team that engages in this task will be to sail in over the coastline and travel in relative discretion, wreck the barrier and storm the facility. Survivors of the SI:7 is not a criteria.  
We haven’t thus far assessed the on-target motive for trapping this woman, but rooted in the data collected, we’re given the feeling that it’s entirely to bleed the woman of the workings of the Sunwell.”  
  
“Who is this woman?”, wonders Cralush.  
  
“Ah yes, pardon me – Lynel Onyxwing. Though her guise has broadly eluded us, she is bound to be the sole high elf who’s within incarceration.  
In the worst of circumstances, where the SI:7 lines their lore coffers with what’s in Lynel’s head, they can destabilize Quel’Thalas’ security and cohesion, in all likelihood eventually drag us off the Horde. I am of the opinion that this is unacceptable.”  
  
Niyena retains her cool, as does Vialenne, though the latter has even less of a draw in this, other than gold. Vela stares incredulously, but Cralush frowns.  
“This is seriously dire, won’t deny that. But what’s your proof that this is the real deal?”  
  
“Well, there’s a litany of components – we’ve come away with a firsthand witness, we’ve procured logs of Magister Anisra Sah’nir who detailed the jumping off point for the assignment to isolate Lynel, and in our grasp lies residue of the space where Lynel was hidden earlier. There are captured documents of the SI:7 collaborating with Grand Magus Ardhouse of the Kirin Tor, to make capital of her cellar as a minor base, and for their league with an eredar clan called Multaregp. And last but not least, the eredar routing an assassin against my person, where they made a play for severing me out of the equation.  
What my peers and I mean to do is track this sanctuary, raid it, emancipate Lynel and bring her into our care. This is why we’ve set out to communicate and mobilize solely Horde or Horde-adjacent orders. With that said, should each of you glom onto a complaint, a worry or an individual flaw, then I’d readily hear it.”  
  
The four side’s representatives weigh this decision and its repercussions to themselves and distinctly Vela seems to await the wills of the Horde members active.  
Niyena is first to respond, laying a hand on her hip and nodding at Kass.  
“I don’t know about the Dark Rangers at large, but you have my support, Arcanist. My squad and I will get behind you, and end your enemies. For the good of Quel’Thalas.”  
  
Kass smiles, thrilled to behold that though they’ve met their ends, the undead quel’dorei would never walk away from their former home.  
“And she shall not forget your bravery, rangers. Thank you. I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded for this.”  
  
“When we’re saviors of the country?"  
  
“Heh. Well…it might not be as grand as all that.”  
  
Second to step forth is Cralush, who sets a meaty hand on his belt.  
“My warriors and I’ll accompany you for this job too. Even if some would wonder at the imperative, and if we’re heading too far, which could spur something direr against the Alliance, the one value that the Horde keeps which takes us towards our victories is that we go all out for one another, when the horns of war are blown. The Alliance’s got their honor and duty, but we’ve got family and passion.” He bumps his chest. “As warriors of the Horde, we’ll fight for the whole Horde.”  
  
The soldiers behind him, and Khroga, copy his gesture once more.  
 _“For the Horde!”  
  
_ Kass’ lips arches in joy and she bows her head.  
“Should we manage to expose these villains for what they are, you and your people shall be remembered for your service. For the Horde.” Khroga grins and winks at her.  
  
One who does not fall for this camaraderie as heavily is the human in this gang.  
“I respect that the Horde would obligingly bolster one another, but neither the circumstances in this deal nor the fallout would disturb House Ravenholdt to any major level. Our attendance was nothing but accessorial anyhow. Coin for labor is well and good, but to be embroiled in a festering conflict between the two most monumental organizations in the scope of Azeroth wouldn’t profit us hugely, precluding on the monetary scale. We aren’t declining your proffer by and of itself…but as of this moment, it sounds tenuous to me.”  
  
Although the temperature through the other three goes raw by dint of this approach, Kass is not such a trifling woman to unsettle. She folds her arms subjacent of her cloak.  
“Ravenholdt is free to pursue or cast off whatever your prerogative determines, as you are not subordinate to anything that has to do with the Horde’s fettle. That said, it would be quite inauspicious if certain words would reach the ears of Horde governors and overlords as concerns your trade with and patronage of a Burning Legion coalition, which are generally viewed as enemies of Azeroth regardless of faction, and that you did not balk at snatching an errand to assassinate a member of a principal sin’dorei institution.”  
  
The stillness from the other trio cranks up in terms of its suspense, and Vialenne herself discontinues her previous unstirred demeanor to erect a vague frown.  
“Ravenholdt is unbiased as you well know, and we never align with anyone in particular, with no heed to if its inside Azeroth or Outland or any other-“  
  
“No two ways about it, lady Shoarlight”, she interrupts, “and I would never _dream_ of refuting your vaunted nonpartisanship in any way, or damage your reputation, but in the case of fairness and honesty with my betters, it would be expected and essential that I draw out the sum of events which triggered the composition which we’re currently tying up, and should they ponder your people’s exploits in contravention of the Horde’s laws and unity, ban relations with your enterprise, seek retribution, and hunt you down like rabid animals…that would simply be a crying shame, wouldn’t it? There would be nothing that I could possibly do, other than accept their ruling, yes? After all, I was but a victim here.  
Then again, were you to assist us in this matter, perhaps I would be so elated that the transgression merely slips my mind.”  
  
Vialenne’s bitterness and agitation can’t be suggested to decrease at this very inadequately veiled threat, but nor can she withstand it with full might either. Maybe Kass can’t cause oblivion for Ravenholdt – few could – but she can disorganize it, erode their business.  
“And what, you demand that we accede to this ludicrous rescue operation out of loyalty? Not that we would spit in the face of the Horde’s proposition, but we don’t work for free.”  
  
“Blatantly not. My pitch is fair – double the price of a regular commission, on top of my own personal input to the Magister Order that House Ravenholdt holds no ties to the Alliance, which would imply that they can be leaned on in times of necessity.”  
  
Although Vialenne is discontent that she’d be arm-twisted into an agreement that could jeopardize fixed affairs with separate clients, it isn’t a disadvantageous offer.  
“Alright. We have a deal.”  
  
“I knew you’d see it my way.”  
  
And so, they’ve hit the ultimate step in this settlement, where but one contributor carries through to join the symphony or to rupture and bail with inconclusion. Kass drives her sight at Vela, who of course detects the flavor behind and what she’s soundlessly conferring to him, but the Amani is positive at its burn.  
“The Amani Empire has no stake in this mess, so why should we trouble ourselves? We are not a branch of the Horde and frankly, to hell with you treacherous elves and your precious well. Presuming you one and all meet your demise or just weaken by a small taste, it’ll bode well for Zul’Aman.”  
  
Not liking the prospect of Kass taking on this entanglement in isolation, Cralush interferes.  
“I can relate to your emotions, shadow hunter. It’s probably in your mind’s eye that the Horde barged into this terrain in a time before, in the seasons of our struggle to undo the Alliance and overrun their states, which as everyone recalls, went off the rails. I was among them and to this day, the impressions and experience I gained in its course are…unforgettable.” He stares down into his hand. “The roars of enslaved dragons, the screams of the dying, the scorching of trees and bodies and houses and earth, the perpetual march towards an enemy that never felt right…  
We weren’t slaves to the demons’ will anymore…and yet we did _exactly_ what they planned. We warred with the Alliance, we slew their defenders no holds barred, and tried to steal their hope. Only later did we awaken to the fact that fighting for a home of our own was more valuable than sabotaging another’s. Killing the elves, whereas my brothers and sisters died around me…I saw everything, the whole kit and caboodle. I was there with your Amani warriors, reaving in the name of our Warchief.” He sets his stare to Vela once again. “You and I knew the same life, shadow hunter. But things are different now. They aren’t with the Alliance – we now together serve the crimson blazon of the Horde.”  
  
But Vela then raises his voice.  
“You don’t see it all, you old jughead! You _can’t_ understand. How could an orc _in any way_ conceive of the pain and plight that the Amani have had to settle for? Your people hasn’t lived with this misery for thousands of years!”  
  
Dragging out a hesitant breath, Cralush shrugs.  
“You got me there. But neither of us can see back to the dawn of this confrontation, nor can we efficiently get to the other side of it. So why not attempt a part that neither has tried for as long as you can remember – peace?”  
  
Vela constricts his teeth and his fists, and grabs a step up to the orc.  
“Does it occur to you that we _do_ know the onset of this hatred, that we have written it in the histories of our people? We are the Amani Empire! We were on this world before you! Before _any_ of you!” He sweeps his arm in front of him, insinuating the entire bunch. “Before orcs, before humans, before the damn elves! We built this land, we refined it, we farmed and lived upon it, making it livable when the Old Gods had set out to disintegrate the works! Without _us_ , the troll empires, none of your lands would be here!  
And then _they_ came to our shores”, he points at Kass and Niyena. “They stole what we had made, they slaughtered our people and pillaged our treasures, making sacrilege on our holiest of grounds! This land was _ours_. It belongs to _us_. You hunger to glimpse who began this damnable war? Look on them right there!” He spreads his hands now to all the sin’ and quel’dorei in the glade. “They stirred it and helped themselves to what we owned.”  
  
“We did!”, Kass shoots back fiercely, getting some of the undead to flinch, Niyena to scowl, and the others to perk their ears. “Our forebears sailed here, they came into contact with you, discussed and didn’t like the terms. Your blessed soil was the best for where they willed to be the spot for the relic of the Well of the Eternity, the Sunwell’s commencement. But your ancestors wouldn’t permit it, so ours drew it from yours and then chased them away.” Vela’s forehead wrinkles, but he now clams up.  
“For generations, the Quel’Thalas’ education system taught us the wrong story, the false account. It described how the Amani started the fighting, spearing and killing ‘innocent’ highborne bereft of cause, that we were the negotiators and you the aggressors. For years and years, I stuck to it, gathering that it couldn’t be wrong, for why would we lie? Why would our noble foremothers and forefathers not have given us the inheritance of truth?” She links her fingers, looking down on the burdened and blackened ground. “Following our enlistment with the Horde, meeting orcs, Darkspear trolls, tauren, forsaken, goblins…I started to wonder. I spoke with everyone, I encountered such great, brave, noble and heartfelt souls, battled in solidarity, ate at their tables…” She glances sideways at her beloved, who filters warmth into her chest. “…grew fond of them to an indescribable degree. By then reexamining if we had been mistaken of the orcs, my mindset came about, and in my collision with Lah’kur in Northrend, seeing her work and struggle beside my sister’s former mentor, a high elf, a new concept bubbled beneath – had we also been wrongheaded in regards to the Amani?”  
She switches to Vela again.  
“This domain _was_ yours. It rightfully sat in your hands and then my forebears appropriated and transformed it for their own needs, thousands of years ago. And they were wrong, alright? Their acts disreputable, abhorrent. But this is the past, long distant history, which neither you nor I can do a damn thing for. But we _can_ revise where we are now and where we’re going. And seeing you standing on this very spot with us, you must somewhere in your heart believe the same, no? Our lives matter little to you, perhaps, and I don’t blame you for it. But do you not care about the Amani, and your potential of reassuming your place upon your sacred halls? What if this could be accomplished?”  
  
Vela scruples at her words, not finding any immediate flaws with that she admits her people’s sins. But there are further curses to this affliction, isn’t there?  
“But you can’t return it. You are no one, not even a true Magister.”  
  
Kass snorts.  
“You’re not off the mark, and Quel’Thalas is likely not being swept away soon. But what I am confident of is that with the passage of Chieftain Zul’jin and King Anasterian, no open war ravages Quel’Thalas _or_ Zul’Aman. Given the chance to root out an ounce of establishing peace, it could be the beginning of the Amani occupying access to those former fundamental areas. With bargaining and comprehension, we might even appoint some of the dimensions that our ancestors took into troll hands anew.  
It isn’t simply our kindred’s name that turned over a new leaf – we now view Azeroth with dissimilar eyes. We’re allies with the orcs and tauren, we cooperate with the free undead, not to forget that trolls – albeit Darkspear – walk the roads of Silvermoon. Imagine that, a troll tribe inhabiting a region which has forever shunned their people. What’s to say that this can’t be Amani as well? Wouldn’t this stand as a more desirable future than pursuing a senseless cycle of war? Lah’kur appears to have come to this belief herself, and I am inclined to echo this heart.  
For my part, I will strive to help with exhorting my people to reconcile with yours – and this is for whichever outcome that occurs in today’s session. I will speak for the Amani to them, make them see that their facts are not true and that people of Zul’Aman would rather bury the hatchet, should we elves treat it seriously. However, if you and your warriors oblige me with rescuing Lynel, you’ll have rendered your sincerity, that your honor surpasses the one of Quel’Thalas, that _you_ managed to take the first step, whereas elves falter and endure in the past. The past which doesn’t bring more than heartbreaks and meaninglessness.”  
  
Vela has acted with loathing and the fire of old crimes and new, with the rush of ones who plainly seek to regain what is theirs, and aren’t meant to ask for it, for it is their _right_. But really taking in her words now, his eyes hurtling left and right, enabling a more moderate perspective to infuse him and rationalize inside his head, he rethinks his approach.  
“Okay…perhaps your argument has merit. But I can’t vow anything at this very day, not before I can touch base with others I rely on.”  
  
“I feel the same. Can we count on your support in the here and now, for this action?”  
  
Vela clutches his own shoulder, taking in the eyes of his brothers and sisters-in-arms behind him. They send him their fiercest and most determined, but also acquiescing gazes. They can be imagined as standing behind him through storm and fire, through uncertainty and darkness.  
“Aye, ya can. Provided that you have a plan.”  
  
Kass’ visage brightens, and she nods.  
“I was but awaiting your approval.”  
  
On her left, Niyena entwines her arms.  
“Won’t lie and act like I wasn’t similarly puzzled of this…”  
  
“Yeah, the Wetlands are in dwarven territory”, Cralush points out. “Committed it to memory when we traipsed north in the Second War. A damn swampy nightmare.”  
  
Kass nudges the collar of her cloak somewhat and inclines her head briefly.  
“That it is, but resistance will be minor. They won’t bear an army at us, and I myself have some input on how we can leverage the asynchronous qualities of our group’s aptitudes. Plus, we’ll move in at night, and the shadows shall be our benediction.”  
  
Vialenne tilts her head left.  
“And how do you propose we make it to the Wetlands? The road north is replete with bandits and leftovers of Stromgarde militia, which is Alliance-leagued, while the south and east are under dwarven jurisdiction. What’s your game there, Arcanist?”  
  
The mage stares at her and a faint grin takes to the surface.  
“Neither – we’ll go in by the west.”  
  
“Uh, the sea? But…”  
  
“Fortunately for us all, my dear lady, I know a most heartened Captain.”


	10. In the rains of salvation

Dark and cloudy skies, a faint gust to whip into loose strands and fabrics, the chatter of sloshing seas. It’s not enough. That the moon isn’t peering down at them narrowing the distance to the coastline is all well and good, but it shall not serve for the occasion, to bring them safely and undisclosed to their enemy. The mission will not be accomplished with such a meager night. Fortunately, this is on the brink of a real swing.

Sea-Captain Fadirwae Autumnfield is erected upon the bow of the Brisk Wavehunter to get a clearer view of the outlook of their coordinates, clad in her navy uniform, the salty wind kissing her cheeks and the rumpled brow which surpass them.  
Though this is not the configuration of errand she’d ever measured that she would be attending with her beauty of a vessel, nor did she ask for it, when an Arcanist solicits your assistance, you don’t refuse besides in the case of absolute necessity. That said, Fadirwae had contended that she will not be dressed as some weaseling little thief – she would execute this escort in her proper regalia or not at all.  
To her relief, the Arcanist had no protests. However, what was it she had stated, again? _“It looks magnificent on you anyhow, my dear Captain.”_ Ugh. First she imposes this entreaty on Fadirwae and then she borderline flirts with her? The nerve…

But comply with instructions she will. She must, for what’s at stake is apparently the future of Quel’Thalas and its correspondence with the Horde. The Alliance has kidnapped some form of eminent sin’dorei figure, and their team is to retrieve her. That was two peripheral chords that the Arcanist knew to beat at with the Captain – on the one hand, the protective sensation to preserve a member of their society, and on the other, devotion to the Horde. Kassari _knew_ that Fadirwae has dedicated herself to this constellation of disparate people, consequent to their acceptance into the ranks, and contextualizing the Alliance’s unfaithfulness hot on the heels of the Scourge invasion, the Captain will have nothing to do with them anymore. She will ward their ties with the Horde, with her body if that’s what it takes.

Turning on her heels and gazing out over flux of entities on her deck does affirm this ideology and brings a certain warmth of pride in her chest that she hasn’t had the spirit of in years – orcish warriors and shamans, sin’dorei mages and arcane blades, forsaken Dark Rangers, even shadow hunters, priests and berserkers from Zul’Aman, each a dozen in count. Who would’ve ever imagined the day where she’d be host to the latter? Although some would be dissuaded by their presence, Fadirwae has spent a couple of years now with Darkspear at her side, so trolls no longer breathe fear of an attack into her. Maybe one day, the Amani too will swing the pennant of the Horde and she could welcome some of their sailors at her side.  
Still and all, she doesn’t quite know what to make of the last dozen – a detachment of assassins from the shady House Ravenholdt, the bulk of them humans. They’re not with the Alliance, but they nevertheless curl her toes.

As she confers with her Darkspear assistant Pa’nesh upon the operational status of the Wavehunter and their flight plan, the Captain’s sight is pulled to the center of the walkway from her ship for round two, because she sees it is time for a fresh encounter with her reigning superior in this errand, who is waltzing up to the bow with her. Clad in black clothes with red lining, foremost a cloak that shrouds her, Kass dips her head.  
“Captain. Mister Pa’nesh”, she says as soon as she’s within audible range.

“Arcanist”, the Captain repays her with.

“’Evening, my lady”, Pa’nesh states softly.

“How are we looking?”

“A couple of minutes from shore", the Captain informs her. "No optics on targets or interference from local wildlife or civilizations either, from what I can make out.”

“Ah, the murloc tribes?”

“Indeed. It is said that they can be a nuisance for travelers and cargo vessels, but not as it stands.”

Kass strolls the whole road up to Fadirwae and Pa’nesh with an ambience of standout ease, the latter bowing his head. In this scenario, where they are to face off with an example of endangerment which they cannot plainly predict, in light of that briefing on the Alliance outpost hasn’t been seamless to recon, Fadirwae had divined an impulse of trepidation. In fact, whenever she herself has sailed into combat, where a single cannonball or stray fire orb can denote catastrophe, she is packed with an acutely ominous sense.  
But for someone who at best could be characterized as a diplomat, the Arcanist is laudably lucid and undaunted. Saying that, Fadirwae will concede that she’s both heard and personally witnessed Kass flying into skirmishes, even confronting demons firsthand, hence she’s not deprived of experience and harrowing accounts. In some manner, it drives the Captain to recollect images of her own little sister, who would never flinch at the sight of battles, foes or fires of war. Then again, that little brat does not display even a bordering semblance of politeness.

This is a disparity which Kass now proves.  
“I wish to thank you, Captain, for your cooperation in this effort. I can see how this last month or two would have been quite overbearing for you, but you have stood tall.”

Fadirwae straightens her back and inclines her head.  
“I’m glad to oblige for the good of Quel’Thalas on every occasion. The navy serves the nation, like it has from the first.”

Kass smiles.  
“And it is thankful for it.”

“On the opposite end…” She glances away at the passengers of their vessel and transfixes onto the skulkier-dressed folks, laying her hands in a cross behind her.  
“My positivity abates in terms of these…Ravenholdts. Are they to be placed with any faith?”

“Hmm.” Kass entwines her arms and tails Fadirwae’s regard. “Trusted? Not under any reasonable circumstances. Leaned on in our contemporary affair? Though it sets me ill at ease, yes, we don’t have much choice. Who better to exploit in a tangle of shadows than those who roam it?”

Fadirwae frowns with distaste, but lowers her sight.  
“Your argument has logic, Arcanist…but it doesn’t soothe me.  
And the Amani? Are they prone to cooperate? I’m stoked to have them among the team, that it’s a rare chance for partnership which has practically never existed, although I can’t help but be alarmed by the thought of our two people’s past.”

“Mm, I can track your sentiment, Captain, but I give you my own assurances of that this crew who’s with us is a creditable gathering of Amani. Their commander has made an unspecified variety of agreements with me that will hold us both to it.”

Fadirwae nods, somewhat settled  
“I’m glad to hand them a chance.”

Afterwards, with land now close at hand, Kass broaches a singular subject.  
“I count on you and your ship to extricate us at the pinnacle of this mission.”

“Of course, I have notified my crew that this is my standing order. Will you be teleporting to Silvermoon posthaste?”

“No, the…package that we’re liberating will be too precious for swift and unceremonious displacement. It shall be sounder to bring her right on board, I should think.  
Come the conclusion of this goal, you are to sail without deviation towards Orgrimmar.”

The Captain looks befuddled.  
“Orgrimmar? But…”

“Rely on my words, Captain. She won’t come to harm there.”

To harm? Fadirwae wonders if she’s implying that would be the result if they took her to Silvermoon, but doesn’t speak it.  
“…as you say, Arcanist.”

“Oh, and in the course of this struggle, I have to in good conscience warn you that the proceedings will in all likelihood wreak a bit of turbulence.”

“What? But isn’t your intent to wander a few miles in?”

“Indeed, but the fallout of the contrasting magics will be felt high and wide.”

Oh dear. Charging a demon-infested harbor the first time they chanced upon one another, then a run-in with ghosts, and now this. What is fate out for to administer to her tonight?  
  


* * *

  
Two hours later, second to a journey amidst the soggy roads and unreceptive wildlife of the marsh, Kassari’s assembled team has spaced itself out along the area. Their battlefield of choice is an unassuming piece of stonework, a single story grey house with a plank-built roof, and a couple of shut windows, down a single side road several hundred meters off the main artery of the Wetlands.

It goes without saying that this is a ruse, for by word of the intel they hoarded in Dalaran, this building in fact amplifies in a subterranean capacity, with unseen tunnels and private prisons. Furthermore, although it is all but imperceptible even for a blood elf, the complex in full is sheltered within a razor-thin enchanted shield, which can likely withstand any number of material and barrages. Though, not perhaps the character of assault team which Kass will bring to bear.

And this strike force is all but circulated throughout the region, by now caging the unknowing SI:7 in with strength from across the Horde and its adjacent allies.  
To the west, orcish warriors and shamans are nestled inside knee-high bushes and partially submerged in water, side by side with dark-clad sin’dorei mages and close-combat sorcerers, the former hustled up from the Magisters’ Arcanist chapters, people of resembling or mildly excelling skill to Kass.  
To the east, Amani trolls have plunged near winding and ragged trees, with hanging overgrowth and added shallow watery pools, accompanied by two dozen black-attired and red-eyed Dark Rangers, whose sights are fixed on their victims, and not the trolls.  
To the north, in the meantime, hides an entourage of races, the Ravenholdt representatives, so craftily enshrouded between rocks and dikes that they exceed the other subdivisions of this force, comparatively being rendered into real shadows.

As the contingents then move into action, they are inserted into a pattern, a progression of stages for how this assault will progress, and they await but the signal. In time, such a beacon does indeed get presented, in the form of Khroga blasting the skies with a brief pulse of lightning, a call and boom that reverberates along the fields. The SI:7 will have caught this thunderous bang, but no matter.

It is at this period where the cycle comes into being, and the orcs are the first to get some height, namely the shamans. Mumbling in orcish, they rally the already electrified wind spirits in the vicinity to ask for their beneficence, but not solely to morph them into lightning - no, they have something more theatrical in mind.  
Chanting and praying, the shamans mesmerize a full-on convoy of storming spirits, which they then guide to the skies, to bid them infuse and darken the aerosphere. While activity has been heeded from the shades of the house now, it is tragically too late to prevent what has been engaged, and in mere moments, the calm and lackluster night clouds have transformed into ones of disharmony – it does not amount to unadorned rain, but an unchecked and animated storm. Lightning sputters, a cloudburst drenches the atmosphere, and the wind bats any corporal form. This won’t just avail to hide the onslaught, but additionally heighten the shamans’ own air-steeped techniques.

With the rain pelting the roof and windows, and the gusts churning alongside the border, the sin’dorei mages get their scheme off the ground, summoning orbs of arcane. Tuning the spells to a given frequency, the magical attack that crashes into and sheds light on the barrier is so effective that if they didn’t know any better, the SI:7 members can perceive the bombardment through fine tremors in the air.

A minute or so later, with it at last collapsing, the furore of glass cracking is discerned. And as the plan would have it, this is all but an alarm for the next phase. It is as such that the divvied range of Dark Rangers rise to their feet, upraises their bows and showers the house and framing environment with arrows, aiming for nothing in particular, besides unmitigated havoc.  
This third preparational tactic then heralds the physical attack – the orcish warriors and some sin’dorei arcane blades charge from the west, the Amani and a few close-combat forsaken from the east, and Ravenholdt by the north. In seconds, the captors are overwhelmed by forays in every corner.  
  


* * *

  
With the commencing of the assault proper, the miniscule attachment to the south also clock their opening now to slink forward. This one contains no one but three – Khroga, Kassari and Drazmhet. Whereas the stated goal for the other factions is to assume responsibility of clashing with the SI:7’s operatives, this trio seeks only one cause – rescue Lynel.  
And it ought to be sufficiently abstracting now too, with so many hands and pieces of steel surging in, that it’s farfetched to anticipate the Alliance’d keep their eyes on three women who pose no parallel immediate risk.

Getting nearer, Kass is able to glean that the defenders are not exclusively human either – she gets eyes on a party of dwarves, gnomes and even two kaldorei. No draenei or quel’dorei, though. How peculiar.  
The front door to the building is to the south as well, but as it has been opened and SI:7 stooges are busy warring with their troops from this angle, Khroga processes them to another entry point, by smashing one of the barred windows with a summoned elemental rock.

First to take advantage of this gap is Drazmhet, who permeates her feet with her technomancy and leaps in like a rabbit. This was a lucky break as an initial visitor, for a sword-wielding foe is paused inside, and though this human is indubitably one with a practiced hand at combat, he is no match for Draz and her extensive struggle at life for centuries. She doesn’t so much as pull from her special attributes either, merely dodges his onrush as if a leaf in the wind and then digs her blades into his back.

During Kass’ and Khroga’s arrival, her resistance tumbles to the floor, and Draz peers at them sideways.  
“I sense her now. She’s here, in this building. Underground.”

Kass looks at the dying man and then nods.  
“Alright, we’ll search the complex. But have care – I too detect…outlandish magic.”

Draz presses herself into one of the walls in narrow distance to an entrance and stares out at the SI:7 agents in cover.  
“We need to scout where that entrance to the buried corridors can be found.”

Then, Khroga kneels down and sets her hand upon the floor, barricading her eyes.  
“Leave it to me. These rocks won’t be hard to discuss with. Figuratively speaking…”

While she concentrates on this task, Draz keeps an eye out for enemies, as well as throwing her sight to the busted window, to not leave them being ambushed when they’re this far in. But in the course of her initiative, she doesn’t fully behold how one of the agents spots Khroga and Kass close to one another inside, and rushes to interfere.  
But for the simple cause that this lady is fit to see them, it is true in equal measure for the opposite camp – Kass frowns at the human who draws her axe and charges at these quarters. A lot beyond this foothold she does not march, for the mage erects a hand and paints a rectangular image midair, like the doorway to the letter. And an incantation then sparks a barrier upon the entrance, which the attacker barrels into.

She staggers and touches her nose in agony, glaring at the pink light which formed.  
“What the…”

“You do not have permission to join us”, Kass states and then flicks her finger forward, prompting the barrier to get launched into her foe, flinging the human multiple meters backwards and full into a wall, to pass out.

Draz oversaw the event, glancing from their foe to Kass with bewilderment.  
“…astutely done.”

“Only an idiot storms headlong into a mage who is prepared.”

At the ensuing seconds of this display, Khroga gets up again and sharpens her visage.  
“I know where they’ve masked that damn hole. It’s a room to the north, two doors off.”

Draz nods.  
“Then away we go.”

Kass furrows her brow at the doorway.  
“What, out there?” She indicates with her head, as the tumult of the party beyond the doors and windows surely ghosts into them, now near to this very floor.

But the ethereal shakes her head strenuously.  
“You forget who you’re speaking to.”  
She sidles up to them, dismisses her swords and provides them with a hand each.  
“Lucky for us, we’re just three.”

The shaman goes over it with a less than pleased eye.  
“…lucky? Speak for yourself…”

Peeking at one another, the mage and the shaman clinch one handle each, and sharpishly, their bodies are overlapped by Draz’s reality-shifting spell, bringing them straight into the wall steering north, and then the next after that.  
Below the wooden bed in a pretty common room, Khroga tracks the hatch which is the same color and material as the floor, all but invisible beneath the shade and dark. It extends to a ladder and the dusk below the surface.

Dropping into this night, they rush forward and disregard the other elements which they spot in the interval – maps, artifacts, logs of interest – to make for the derivation of Draz’s friend. But albeit Draz dashes headily through the earth-packed, cramped and undecorated hallways, like the twisty paths of a mountain, Kass’ fretfulness upsurges, as her mind pelts to and fro, to analyze what it is she saw in her mind’s eye.

In a few minutes’ span, with the orc and sin’dorei a slew of meters after her step, Kass calls out.  
“Drazmhet! Wait! You’re walking dead into-“

And at that beat, they strike.  
In an open room, like a grander terminal of crossroads, at each flank of the corridor, two black-violet sabers cut point-blank at her, severing the air and slicing with the might and edge of spellbound weapons.  
It’s then a good omen that Draz is no slouch, not one who unwarily runs into a residence of this quality, or any area she’s ever been in – prior to the magical blades stopping at her hide, she ducks in an instant, and glides frontwards with one leg out, gets traction upon the floor and flips up, brandishing her blades.

What her vision is set upon is, to her astonishment, a duo of beings, clad as they are in gear that has a legion of common threads with her own, even with the addition of being given life by sheer energy.  
But simultaneously, they are nothing alike, for the color and origin of this vitality is on another level, dark and twisted, screaming of an inherent delusion which Draz recognizes. She clenches her own armaments.  
“The Ethereum.”

Kass and Khroga are struck per her revelation, ideas and notions of what Draz has fed them in the days leading up to this operation flooding their minds and hearts.  
“What? Your people’s-…but why would they partake in this?!”

“Why don’t you ask them?”

And it’s written all over their acting circumstances, but their extra-azerothian thugs have no investment in bringing to light the actuality of their involvement within whatever is taking place in this base. As such, they burst on the way to their non-aligned rogue. In tandem with this strike, two more materializes to the east and west, now coming at the remaining duo, to hamper their potential access.  
But in the midst of such an activity, they hit a wall authored by Khroga, who takes up her axes and wards them off. Kass gasps, but then furrows her brow. To assist her beloved, she conjures a shield of frost along the orc’s body and launches two orbs of arcane at the ethereals, who spin and backflip into safety.

But the Ethereum representatives, who do not appear keen to converse on this subject, relaunch themselves onto their contenders, twirling and bouncing atop the walls to come down on either. Mercifully for Khroga, primordial rock and dirt is easy to come by inside this shaft, meaning she draws it up around her to protect her fleshier parts, whilst her ethereal partner in crime can at best shield herself with her blades and attempt to utilize her technosorcery to slide out of various wide impacts from the void-infused beings. In fact, the Void is so palpable that it practically oozes from them, and thus relying on solely phasing abilities will not do.

Kass is on the brink of pulling in to pillow her comrades, when Draz hollers to her.  
“Arcanist, hurry! Go get Lyn right now!”

The mage falters and her spell fails prior to being seeded.  
“Excuse me?”

“We’ll hold these people here. Go fetch Lynel while you can! You’re the only one with the power and opening for it!”

Kass’ gaze widens, her reaction unstable.  
“But…that’s not…”

To the right, Khroga grits her teeth and parries one of the etherum killers’ blades, a second previous to connecting with a portion of loose rocks to magically hurl them at the other and temporarily stall them.  
“Kass, we’re on the clock! Get to it!”

“But…I don’t want to leave you!”

“We’ll handle it! The rest will swoop in to back us up in just a couple o’ minutes!”

No more than simple consolation, but it does oblige enough to stir Kass into action.  
“You two…you better not be on the floor when I get back!”

“Not if you spin it up!”, Draz avers. “The road to the east, floor it!”  
The sin’dorei grimaces, summons her spells and shoots herself with a blink incantation to one of the other roads, tracing the direction granted by Draz’s innate sensations. One of the Ethereum combatants proximate to Draz strives to intercept her, sliding past the Tech-Blade, but Draz is not about to let this drop off in such an impromptu pace.  
“I don’t think so!”, she yells in their native tongue, and lobs one of her swords at this runner, lodging it head-on into a leg, so that her adversary is overturned.

Though she does not possess essence-scouring methods on her own, Kass tries her hand at one of the more simplistic and menial abilities at her disposal – fling every door open with a torrent of energy.  
With the fight still raging up above, the defenders in this section are sparse, or all but nonexistent, affording Kass plenty of room to maneuver, at least for the time being.  
It is the fourth cluster of quarters in the column where she at last beholds what she’s after – a steel door, seething with defensive and most of all, confining enchantments, to keep magically adept creatures occupied. Deciphering and loosening these restrictions is a simple matter for a trained Magister sorceress, and thus she unbuckles each and every one in no more than a minute, before flying the entranceway open.

Therein, she glimpses a lengthy-eared lady sitting on an unembellished wooden bed, clad in black and lavender robes, arms in her lap, not visibly mistreated or browbeaten, but by no means in her happiest state of being.  
From a first glance, Kass cannot with adamance proclaim that she’s feasted her eyes on this individual elf at any point. She is a pretty sight, truth be known, that much the Arcanist cannot dispute – a warm medium brown exterior showcasing rounded and softer features, plump lips, sky blue gaze, extensive pale blonde wavy locks with a side braid on the left division, whereas the remainder of them droop across her right shoulder.

There’s a faint and rare sense of…regality to her, howbeit this is quieted down by the meeker and mildly frightened aura. Not innocence, but a gentle soul. This one is by her first impressions not a fighter. Then again, that’s never what Draz explained – the ethereal had brought up that she herself was the protector. This one is the academic, perchance?  
“Who…who’re you?”, she utters in thalassian, constrained.

“Arcanist Kassari, former apprentice to Magister Anisra Sah’nir.”

The woman’s blues then twinkle with a joyful knowledge.  
“Ani'osa? By the glistening sun, what a relief…”

Osa? That's a suffix which is sometimes granted as a loving gesture to those much older than oneself that one is close to. Were they friends?  
“Lynel Onyxwing?” Wait, why is she even asking? Who else would this be?

“Lynel…” she mumbles with a marginally absent value. “Yes, I...erm, is Daz-…uh, Drazmhet with you?”

“She’s just down the corridor, but we have to get you out of here, pronto.”

“Is she…is she okay?”

Lyn and Daz, hmm? And already worrying for her companion more than herself? There is a hint of affection to these utterances too. A novel character indeed, but by the implications out of Draz, perhaps not out of order.  
“She is, but you must come along. I shall bring you directly to her.”

With the defenses, there was no requirement to lock her down, and therefore, Lyn gets to her feet now with renewed hope to her reflection. Kass also notices that Lynel is slightly shorter than herself.  
“O…okay. Yes, I’ll go with you, Arcanist.”

Grasping her hand, Kass tugs her outside and then with a delicate nudge to her back, indicates for Lynel to run ahead of her. She had in store to call her young, but by the estimates of Draz’ story, it would be likely that this lady is in fact her senior.  
Another half a minute and they return to the duel between the four Ethereum and two Horde-aligned ladies, and though Kass did not partake of the battle with the eredar, she can presume this is going worse than last time, modeled on the blood slipping over Khroga’s arm and belly.

“Daz!”, Lynel instinctively shouts, and in a moment of weakness, the ethereal shifts to her.

“Lyn! Oh, thank the endless stars…”  
But this susceptibility is a fool’s errand and opens up for one of the Ethereum flunkies to have a pop at piercing the left side of Draz’s waist.

Fortune does favor her, however, as Kass is now her guardian spirit instead.  
“Not a chance!” With a snap of her fingers, an arcane blast pummels this one in the chest, slamming them aside a few meters, and Kass repeats this trick three times, to drive the Ethereum to forcibly grant them a breach. This is Kass’ window of opportunity to snatch Lynel’s mitt once again, blink them both towards Khroga and Draz, and then scribble a slapdash number of runes in the air.  
“Hang on, everyone! We shall be making our abrupt exit now, I do believe. Apologies for the unsatisfactory conclusion to this high-paced entanglement, but we’re far too employed by more pressing matters, I’m afraid”, she announces firmly, seconds preceding the casting of a teleportation spell, escorting the lot of them up to the surface. And now, all that remains is extraction.


	11. Phoenix and Shroud

Durotar, the land of crags and canyons and near-deserts. Flora in this region is sparse, and the heat is very much palpable to a sometimes intolerable degree. A minimum of travelers outside the orcs of Orgrimmar and caravans ever dare to shoulder the burden of traversing the miniscule quantity of roads that it has to go around, making it an ideal hideout for those who can bear it.  
And for Kassari, this is the root cause of her urge to make this the sanctuary of their liberated new ally. To her mind, the hot and dry space that it portrays and nurtures isn’t quite to her fancy, but with the asset of Orgrimmar being but a few days away, she can’t negate the possibilities that it presents.

This safehouse is nothing special per se – an insulated stone building of a substance with collateral size and color to the environment, which prompts a handier time to blend into it. It was built and positioned to lick the eastern coastline, but in amidst a road that is neighbored by giant rocky platforms, so that if they at any point are desperate to escape, they have but to hotfoot it into the landscape and fade through the canyon passes and tunnels. It’s not perfect by any means, but nor is it a waste of effort. Besides, Kass doesn’t suspect anyone would assume she’d level this lady so near to a big city.

Personally, as the midday sun rises in the blue and cloud-scarce heaven, she’s seated on a few waist-height rocks, her loose black hair dancing in the ocean wind, the current slithering into her thin brown-green robes. It’s warm today, naturally, so the intake is quite pleasing. She peers out towards the Great Sea, gushing and roiling, but not in as disordered of a fashion as it did in the Wetlands, which still feels not far from yesterday, albeit by now, it’s apt to have been at the very least a week.

In the culmination of the struggle against the SI:7 – or whatever faction they truly represent – Kass set about providing portals for the Amani, Ravenholdts, Magister mages and Dark Rangers, those who were not bound for the west. She offered her profound gratitude to all, and that she would keep herself to the oaths she’s made. For this premise, Vela’zakh as a matter of fact proffered his hand to her for a shaking, wishing her good luck. A smile still crests her lips just thinking of that moment.  
And she is fixed on these promises, maintaining that she will sow their latency when she returns to civilization. But first, there are…questions to be unraveled.

During Kass’ process to mentally arm herself for the encounter, she is not left to solitude, because in moments, one of the so-called natives – ignoring that her kind shifted to these lands but a decade ago – spots her stature, grins and strays to her. Khroga stores herself upon the same rock, circles her arms along Kass’ waist and rubs her nose down the soon elated-looking elf’s neck.  
“Hey there, cutie.”

Kass laughs and her eyelids spontaneously latches, to revel and inundate herself in her darling’s adoring ministrations, ones that she has blessedly had room to drink in for plenty of the trip here.  
“Mm. Hello to you too, sweetheart.”

“Indulging in the salty breeze?”

“Suppose that would be accurate, yes. Reminds me of home. Though the ones swarming Quel’Thalas are more to my discretion, these in Durotar are far better cooling.”

“Yeah, it does get pretty damn hot here, on any day. Dad used to say it put him in mind of his own homeland. He was brought up in some kinda dusty coastland too, with the other Blackrocks on Draenor.”

The orc kisses a route across the posterior of Kass’ neck and during the course of it, the tips of her tusks nudge the skin, no matter whether it isn’t peaked enough to impale. For Kass, this trenchant sensation is not discomforting in the slightest, but enhances her contentment in patterns which she can barely form into words. Save, perhaps, that the prickling indicates that it is Khroga and for that reason, settles her into an ambience of love.

There comes a minute when Kass acquiesces to that she can’t sit on this spot and be dotted upon for the entirety of the afternoon.  
“Did you speak with our guests? Uh, well, not…guests. This isn’t rightfully our house, but…”

“Yeah. Got them some lunch earlier – bacon, beans and Mulgore bread. That is, Onyxwing ate.”

“Heh. Yes, I wager Drazmhet wouldn’t have much utility for it.”  
With her eyeballs yet on the horizon, Kass crooks herself into Khroga’s chest, the orc laying her hands down on the mage’s lap, and nuzzling into the black hair’s top.  
“Dearest…”

“Yes, zak’tro?”

“What’s your opinion of Lynel?”

At that, the shaman blinks with a faint fog to her mind.  
“Uh, does that matter?”

“Well…to me, it does.”

“How come?”

The elf breathes ruminatively, weighing her words and their essentiality.  
“Don’t you figure there’s a…queer value to her?”

“Erm…”

“Like…I don’t know. The way she holds herself, her presence, and magical attendance is…it’s as if she’s beyond the simple custodian that she avows.”

“Hmm.” Khroga slips her fingers into Kass’ shivering strands. “I…guess so, yeah. Can’t tell you how I get that taste, though. Cuz unlike you, my magical learning can’t cut it next to most elves.”

Kass exhales with a portion of frustration.  
“That’s…I can’t tell you either or define why you might share in this principle, but grounded in our equal sensibilities to it, then it stands clear that we can’t eschew this phenomenon. Now the question just lingers – who is she?”

“Isn’t that a request best aimed at her?”

“It is, but…I wonder if she’s inclined to tell us. Drazmhet has gone to painstaking lengths free her, and we would never have been assimilated into this controversy if not for her leaks and disclosures, but I smell that it’s for something larger than standard protective work. And if this is so, would they not both be quick to dig their heels in, in case of any probing ideas?”

Khroga beholds it in an even light to Kass now, troubled by it.  
“Hmm. Yeah, suppose they wouldn’t wanna out everything even to their rescuers, if they feel we might dupe ‘em.”

“Indeed. We need to talk them out of it.”

Turning to the entrance of the house, they spot a mere three-room building, which is a sturdy craft no question, but fairly spartan in its accessorial delivery, showing no more than a couple of plants imported from Mulgore and a few marked cloth pieces, with orcish and Darkspear iconography.  
The second duo itself is seated on a wood and leather-plastered bench attached to the northern wall, their bodies adjacent to one another, to the extent where they’re touching – their hands intertwined, and Lynel’s head tilted onto Draz’s shoulder. They’re conversing in an almost subvocal volume, with the elf’s lips sloped in a joyful respect. She’s self-composed here, at peace in Draz’s company. There cannot be any guessing or mistaking this any further, that this is bigger than pure friendship. Well, the link inside the confines of the arcane was more than substantial, to be honest.

Kass herself is caught by the uncommon features of this bond, that no known elf has ever stood this close to an ethereal, and yet the passion and ardor of this couple practically seems to be strongest and largest in Draz, who would endanger and gamble such an abundance of her own life for this one elf. Either Lynel is someone special, or Draz’s persistence is.  
Putting on a genial smile, Kass approaches them with Khroga attached.  
“Good morning to you both. I hope you’ve rested well in the previous night?”

Glancing up from her seat, Lynel’s face beams, a frightfully adorable display.  
“Yes! I must thank you two. Not just for…for giving us this space, but everything. I’m amazed beyond words that you would go so far for us two.” She turns sideways and gazes affectionately at the ethereal. “I always knew Daz would come for me, but not…not that she’d accumulate such a group.”

“Heh, well…”, begins the ethereal. “The majority of that was miss Silvershroud.”

Kass smirks and crosses her arms.  
“I did my best, with the circumstances.”

Another line of consideration then comes over Lynel as she roams Kass.  
“Ah, yes, that’s right…you’re a Silvershroud. Daz communicated this to me last night.”

“So I am. Is this a problem?”

Lyn looks faded for a brief turn, and then giggles.  
“No, not the least bit! I’m simply stunned by that a Silvershroud would. What with, erm…”

The Arcanist inclines her head, preventing the prerequisite for elaboration.  
“I’m aware of my House’s flaws, but I would do _anything_ for Quel’Thalas.”

“Yes, this crystallized for me too”, Draz remarks.

Lynel then drifts her sweet visage at Khroga.  
“And I thank you as well, shaman. I heard from Draz that you took some grievous injuries, and I am beyond taken that you would work yourself so immensely for a stranger.”

The orc smiles and levels a fist on her own chest.  
“I’m proud to serve the Horde. And y’know…” She peers at the mage, squeezing her hand. “Kass is my zak’tro, my…everything. She asks, I come.”

Kass’ light greens shimmer with delight and she pulls her lover down into a brief, but ardent kiss.  
“And I you, dearest.”

Lynel seems heartened through it.  
“I haven’t entirely gotten into the swing of things with the Horde, but…viewing how grand our allies are, I can’t help but swell with joy that we took this option.”

Then, the Arcanist restrains herself and angles at Lynel.  
“Are you suitably prepared now, miss Onyxwing? There are some answers I would like to hear.”

Solemnity cuts into the other elf’s irises and she nods.  
“Mm, naturally. And you have earned them. Come, sit with us.”

The mage is on the edge of getting plonked down, but in its place, she gazes sideways.  
“Say, it is lunchtime soon, yes? Maybe we should grab some of these while we’re at it…”

She flourishes an arcane spell and teleports a box with some bottles inside – faelen berry cider, transported from Quel’Thalas in the hold of the Wavehunter. Kass managed to bargain with the Captain for one box, in exchange for some Echo Isles spirits that she’d procured. Lynel illuminates at the cylinder in her hands, clasping it with excitement.  
“Ooh! Sunwell bless me, I haven’t enjoyed one of these in years! Thank you ever so much, Arcanist.”

Kass slants her lips and winks.  
“It’s at most a fraction of home, but more than you had.”

Socketing her finger at the cap and imbuing it with the tiniest of arcane impetus, it unscrews itself and drops off.  
“I appreciate the distinction. You can’t know what this means to me…” She seizes a big gulp and lets it rinse and suffuse her throat with glee, that sting of liquor, sweetness and the southeastern sea air where the berries are cultivated being one hell of a trip down memory lane.

When they’ve each sipped for a bit, Kass proceeds.  
“What Draz had phrased for us, was that rock solid? Of your occupation and life?”

Lynel flicks her fingertips on her lips, luxuriating in the flavor of the drink for a couple more seconds.  
“Mm. I was indeed one of the caretakers of the Sunwell”, she acknowledges, “as was a heap of my family. The main body of our lifetimes were occupied by its progress, welfare and wholeness. And then…the Lordaeronian Prince tore it into shreds, with his vile power. It was virtually insulting how comfortably he did it.” She blows out air and shakes her head dismally.  
“And I might add that I was in point of fact acquainted with your master, Magister Anisra. As it happens, the two of us were quite decent friends for nearly three centuries, and I respected the old woman with great enthusiasm.”

“Ahh, so that’s where ‘Ani’osa’ derives from.”

“That it does. I was ever a tad saddened that it was Belo’vir and not Ani’osa who took the Grand Magister seat, albeit he was a nice man too. And now, both of them are…” The tips of her ears slump with heartache.

Khroga hikes her eyebrow.  
“How uh, old are ya?”

“Hmm? Oh, I forgot that your kind-…uhm, I’ve surpassed my 350th birthday.”

“…wow.”

“Well, it’s not abundantly aged by our standards. I’m not a child, but reasonably young.  
On top of this, I received news of you from her, Arcanist, which frankly made me unable to trust my ears - Silvershrouds have barely been allowed inside the Order under any circumstances. But either way, Ani’osa held nothing but praise for you, whenever you were taken on as a topic.”

Kass’ lips curl and she strokes her own neck.  
“I…didn’t know that. Master Sah’nir and I…she was unceasingly…well…”

Lynel glows knowingly.  
“Like a second mother?”  
Kass’ eyes spark and dilate. Then she clears her throat, influencing Lynel to giggle.  
“Then again, due to my enforced isolation, I had made some limited…assumptions. In fact, I had feared the fullness of the Magister Order might’ve died that day, including you, miss Kassari.”

“Ah. I am alive and well, as you can see, much as there is a precedent that those who shielded you are unequivocally gone.”

The quel’dorei stares down at her hands, downhearted once more.  
“So many lives, wasted…my own family, my protectors, my friends…sometimes I wonder why I had to be spared…”

Draz then sweeps an arm along her waist.  
“Hey, don’t say that. They loved you too, which is the core of that they’d wish to see you survive.”

“Maybe…”

“Hmm”, utters Kass. “We don’t bear the sum of facts, though. It is undisclosed whether anyone else from your family breathes. It’s up in the air.”

Lynel sighs in sorrow and jerks her head.  
“It’s probably true…that I’m alone now.” For comfort, she leans into Draz’s chest.

“Miss Onyxwing, I’d like to know what the Alliance discovered. And is the belief that the premiers of Silvermoon was in league with them legitimate?”

The other elven woman discharges air.  
“The latter could have some accuracy to it, although I’m unclear on the dimensions of this. Howsoever it is, this is not for the merits which you may be laboring under. The SI:7 agents did not grill me for matters of the Sunwell, as that was not what compelled them in the depths of their agenda.”

Kass and Khroga now stare at her with bemusement, glancing at one another.  
“You’re not…playing tricks on us, are ya?”, asks the shaman.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”, wonders Kass. “Was not the design of this focused strategy to undermine Quel’Thalas and the Horde’s unification?”  
She skims Draz skeptically, who diverges her head downwards in…shame? It’s burdensome to discern with an ethereal.

Lynel continues.  
“Well, it’s not a lie that they were contracting with…a personage of the higher echelons in Silvermoon, but I could never distinguish who. I wouldn’t have figured it would be Lor’Themar Theron, but who can say?  
And yes, doubtless the essence of this grand strategy was to jerk Silvermoon into the embrace of the Alliance once more, to render the Eastern Kingdoms in the flags of blue down to the ground. But this was not with my _knowledge_ , but rather my… _station_. My fate was to be captured and veiled, to not logically interfere with this procedure.”

“Procedure? What was it they…?” Kass now fades into intuition and inner ideas, with Lynel staring deeply into her eyes. Then, out of nowhere, she snickers, with Kass frowning.  
“What’s so funny?”

Lyn attempts to choke it and shakes her head.  
“Ah, please forgive me, Arcanist. It’s just humorous, since…never in a million years would anyone have expected a _Silvershroud_ to rescue me. Your family…they’ve _despised_ mine with the deepest of contempt, since time immemorial. Or a few thousand years at minimum. Begrudged, opposed, and…to be honest, there was some ounce of good reason to it. We never treated you particularly well, did we?”

Kass is now eminently befuddled. Except, there is…something to it.  
“What does that even refer to? Who…who are you?”

“My name is not Lynel Onyxwing. ‘Onyxwing’ was…a branch inside the realm of our family, resorted to by those of us who were dedicated to preserve and nurture the Sunwell. It was named as such for the onyx we wore in our necklaces.” She slips a hand in under her robes and pulls forth her own silver article, a pitch black beautiful gemstone in its center, black as night. “Onyx with the appropriate application carries the power to store light and the arcane, inclusive of the one in the Sunwell. We would transfer minor droplets of the Sunwell into explicit weapons or items, to enchant them. Felo’melorn has obviously bathed in its hallowing. And perhaps you’ve heard of Quel’Delar? It too was blessed with its light, extracted by my family.  
However, the Onyxwing chapter contained more than simply our family by blood – individualized outsiders, primarily quel’dorei, who were to be trusted could join us, be rendered an Onyxwing.” She glances at the ethereal, smiles softly and interlocks their fingers. “Sometimes, when they grew close to another Onyxwing…they came to join us.”

Khroga’s eyes enlarges.  
“You…are an Onyxwing?”

Draz faintly coughs, predominantly as a gesture.  
“Uh, I…yes. But my only duty was to help protect the Sunwell, besides Lyn. I couldn’t do any of the…enchanting work.”

The quel’dorei’s eyes sparkle with amusement.  
“’Lynel’…hmm.” She actually initiates a mild smirk at Draz. “That’s kind of an extension of…a nickname Daz has used for me for decades.”

The ethereal rolls her shoulders awkwardly.  
“It uh…sounded better than the real thing. Or just ‘Lyn’.”

Oh, that’s right – Kass now recalls that day greater than before. Isn’t it valid that Draz altered her name the first time?  
 _“Her name is Lyn. Erm, Lynel.”_ Foolishly, Kass had surmised and chalked it up to a warranted stutter.

‘Lynel’ or whatever her name is, raises Draz’s hand and kisses behind it.  
“Daz was ever both my sworn sword and closest friend, back to the day we initially joined together. We believed in each other, beyond anything. Beyond family and duty.”

Draz looks at her earnestly and…perhaps lovingly?  
“And I still do.”

Lyn smiles, craning her form to peck the cloth on the ethereal’s ‘cheek’. Then she observes Kass.  
“But she told me that you are dependable. Everything you’ve done for me, for her, for our homeland…heh, you even succeeded in swaying a whole platoon of Amani to liberate me. I could never have foreseen this. I won’t soon forget their assistance, I swear it. Therefore, you deserve the truth, both of you.”  
She takes a deep breath and steadies herself.  
“It’s good to meet you, Arcanist Silvershroud, shaman Steelfang – my name is Lyandra Sunstrider, a distant relative to the late King Anasterian, and bleak though it may sound, the last known heir to the throne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You might think that some of the questions started in this fic were never answered, and you would be right. I never planned to solve them all right here._   
>  _If you believe this is just gonna be me trying to put Lyandra on Quel'Thalas' throne when Blizzard didn't dare to (because they simply HAVE to have a boy of course), you're not quite right. But I won't be employing her in the same poor manner they did in Legion either._   
>  _Anyway, if you somehow got this far, thanks for reading._


End file.
